■MHHHHMHHHHI 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DIEGO 


IBBfl 


JfSfSK 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA,  SAN  DIEGO 


3  1822  00185  0718 


7  ? 

/  2a  z 


BY    THE    SAME    AUTHOR. 

SCHOOL    DAYS    AT    RUGBY. 

BY  AN  OLD  BOY. 

TWENTIETH    EDITION. 
PEIOE     $1.00. 

SCHOOL   DAYS   AT    RUGBY. 

ILLUSTRATED    EDITION. 

WITH  TEN  DESIGNS  BY  LAEKIN  G.  MEAD,  JR. 

PBICE     $1.50. 

OR 

THE  LONG  VACATION  HOLIDAY  OF  A  LONDON  CLERK. 

"With  Illustrations  by   Richard    Doyle. 
PRICE     $1.00. 

TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

2  Vols.  12mo.  $2.00 


TOM  BROWN  AT  OXFORD: 


A    SEQUEL    TO 


SCHOOL    DAYS   AT   RUGBY. 


BY 

THE    AUTHOR     OF 
"  SCHOOL  DAYS  AT  RUGBY,"  "  SCOURING  OF  THE  WHITE  HORSE,"  ETC. 


PART     SECOND. 


BOSTON: 

TICKNOIt     AND     FIELDS 

M  DCCC  LXII. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1861,  by 

TICKNOR  AND  FIELDS, 

la  the  Clerk's  Office  of  the  District  Court  of  the  District  of  Massachusetts. 


TO 

JAMES      RUSSELL     LOWELL, 

OP 

HARVARD    COLLEGE,    MASSACHUSETTS, 

THE  AMERICAN   EDITION   OF  THIS  BOOK 

IS   GRATEFULLY   DEDICATED, 

AS    A     SMALL    ACKNOWLEDGMENT     OF    THE     DELIGHT    AND    BENEFIT 
WHICH  THE  AUTHOR  HAS   DERIVED   FROM   HIS  WORKS. 


Lincoln's  Inn,  June  15,  1861. 
My  Dear  Lowell,  —  You  will  see  by  the  foregoing 
that  I  have  dedicated  this  book,  at  least  the  American 
edition  of  it,  to  you,  at  which  I  hope  you  will  neither  be 
surprised  nor  offended.  It  is  one  of  the  highest  rewards 
an  English  author  can  hope  for,  to  be  read  on  your  side 
of  the  Atlantic,  and  I  have  had  so  many  proofs  of  hearty 
and  kindly  sympathy  from  over  the  water  since  I  have 
taken  to  publishing,  that  I  feel  as  though  I  had  old  friends 
scattered  all  about  your  States,  and  think  of  New  England 
pretty  much  as  I  do  of  Yorkshire.  To  you,  as  the  fore- 
most of  such  friends,  —  though  unhappily  only  known  to 
me  as  yet  on  paper  and  by  photograph,  —  I  turn  when  I 

iii 


IV  DEDICATION. 

hear  that  the  last  sheets  of  proof  are  being  made  up  for 
Messrs.  Ticknor  &  Fields,  and  cannot  resist  the  tempta- 
tion of  thus  associating  your  name  with  a  book  of  mine, 
as  I  have  already  over  here  had  the  honor  of  associating 
my  name  with  a  book  of  yours. 

The  book  itself  needs  no  comment.  Superficially  our 
youngsters  no  doubt  differ  from  yours,  and  the  lesson  of 
life  has  to  be  learnt  under  very  different  surroundings 
at  Harvard  and  Oxford,  in  New  York  or  Boston  and 
London.  But  at  bottom  it  is  the  same  battle,  and  the 
Devil,  I  doubt  not,  has  just  such  subtle  ways,  with  you  as 
with  us,  of  keeping  them  back  from  steady  growth  in  pu- 
rity, and  manliness,  and  truthfulness.  But,  however  un- 
like one  another  the  young  men  of  New  England  and  Old 
England  may  be,  they  are  a  thousand  times  more  like  one 
another  than  they  are  like  any  other  human  creature  the 
sun  shines  on.  So  if  the  book  is,  as  I  hope,  one  which 
will  do  some  good  to  Oxford  and  Cambridge  men  if  they 
will  try  to  find  out  what  it  means  to  say,  however  feebly 
the  meaning  may  be  brought  out,  I  have  no  fear  but  that 
it  will  do  as  much  for  your  pupils  at  Harvard. 

But  enough  about  the  book.  It  seems  like  fiddling 
while  Rome  is  burning  to  be  talking  of  such  matters  now 
to  any  American.  My  dear  friend,  you  cannot  know  how 
deeply  all  that  is  soundest  and  noblest  in  England  is  sym- 
pathizing with  you  in  your  great  struggle.  You  must  not 
judge  by  newspapers  or  magazines,  though  so  far  as  I  see 
the  best  of  them  are  speaking  decidedly  on  the  right  side. 
Not  so  warmly  or  decidedly  as  I  could  wish  ;  for  this  our 
free-trade  notions  and  some  hasty  and  inconsiderate  speak- 
ing and  writing  on  your  side  will  account.  But  be  sure 
that  the  issues  are  appreciated  here,  and  while  we  see  the 
awfulness  of  the  task  you  have  in  hand,  we  have  faith  in 


DEDICATION.  V 

you,  we  believe  that  if  it  can  be  done  you  will  do  it,  and 
we  wish  you,  from  the  bottom  of  our  hearts,  God  speed! 

The  great  tasks  of  the  world  are  only  laid  on  the  strong- 
est shoulders.  We,  who  have  India  to  guide  and  train, 
who  have  for  our  task  the  educating  of  her  wretched  peo- 
ples into  free  men,  who  feel  that  the  work  cannot  be  shifted 
from  ourselves  and  must  be  done  as  God  would  have 
it  done,  at  the  peril  of  England's  own  life,  can  and  do  feel 
for  you.  But  as  we  hope  to  get  through  with  our  own 
work,  as  we  would  ask  no  meaner  work  for  ourselves,  so 
we  rejoice  that  you,  our  brethren,  have  shaken  yourselves 
up  to  your  work,  and  have  put  your  hands  to  it  in  such 
grim  earnest  as  assures  us  that  the  old  blood  is  still  the 
same  despite  all  difference  of  latitude  or  longitude. 

And  so,  with  firm  faith  that  your  country  will  quit  her- 
self as  England's  sister  should  in  this  fiery  trial  time,  and 
with  all  good  wishes  to  you  and  yours,  believe  me  ever 
gratefully  and  most  truly  yours, 

THOS.  HUGHES. 


CONTENTS. 


VOLUME    II; 

CHAPTER    I. 

PACE 

The  Schools,   1 

CHAPTER    II. 
Commemoration, 19 

CHAPTER    III. 
The  Long  Walk  in  Christ-Church  Meadows,    34 

CHAPTER   TV. 
Lecturing  a  Lioness,  56 

CHAPTER    V. 
The  End  of  the  Freshman's  Year, 73 

CHAPTER    VI. 
The  Long  Vacation  Letter-Bag,  87 

CHAPTER    Vn. 
Amusements  at  Barton  Manor,  107 

CHAPTER    Vm. 
Behind  the  Scenes, 117 

CHAPTER    IX. 
A  Crisis,   128 

CHAPTER   X. 
Brown  Patronus,   147 

CHAPTER    XI. 
Mrjdkv  uyav,  1~3 

CHAPTER   Xn. 
Second  Year, 193 

vii 


Vlll  CONTENTS. 

PACE. 

CIIAPTER    XIII. 
The  River  Side, 210 

CHAPTER  xrv. 
The  Night-Watch,  22 1 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Mary  in  Mayfair,  239 

CHAPTER   XVI. 
What  came  of  the  Night-Watch,   253 

CHAPTER   XVTI. 
Hue  and  Cry,  269. 

CHAPTER    XVIH. 
The  Lieutenant's  Sentiments  and  Problems, 283 

CHAPTER    XIX. 
Third  Year,   299 

CHAPTER    XX. 
Afternoon  Visitors,  317 

CHAPTER   XXI. 
The  Intercepted  Letter-Bag,   332 

CHAPTER   XXH. 
Master's  Term,  354 

CHAPTER   XXIH. 
From  India  to  Englebourn,    366 

CHAPTER    XXIV. 
The  Wedding-Day ,  378 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
A  Meeting  in  the  Street, 891 

CHAPTER   XXVI. 
The  End,    405 

CHAPTER    XXVII. 
The  Postscript,  419 


CHAPTER  I. 


TIIE   SCHOOLS. 


There  is  no  more  characteristic  spot  in  Oxford  than 
the  quadrangle  of  the  schools.  Doubtless  in  the  times 
when  the  university  held  and  exercised  the  privileges  of 
infang-thief  and  outfang-thief,  and  other  such  old-world 
rights,  there  must  have  been  a  place  somewhere  within 
the  liberties  devoted  to  examinations  even  more  exciting 
that  the  great-go.  But  since  alma  mater  has  ceased  to 
take  cognizance  of  "  treasons,  insurrections,  felonies,  and 
mayhem,"  it  is  here  in  that  fateful  and  inexorable  quad- 
rangle, and  the  buildings  which  surround  it,  that  she  ex- 
ercises her  most  potent  spells  over  the  spirits  of  her  chil- 
dren. I  suppose  that  a  man  being  tried  for  his  life  must 
be  more  uncomfortable  than  an  undergraduate  being  ex- 
amined for  his  degree,  and  that  to  be  hung,  —  perhaps 
even  to  be  pilloried,  —  must  be  worse  than  to  be  plucked. 
But  after  all,  the  feelings  in  both  cases  must  be  essentially 
the  same,  only  more  intense  in  the  former  ;  and  an  institu- 
tion which  can  examine  a  man  (in  literis  humanioribus,  in 
humanities  so  called)  once  a  year  for  two  or  three  days  at 
a  time,  has  nothing  to  complain  of,  though  it  has  no  longer 
the  power  of  hanging  him  at  once  out  of  hand. 

The  schools'  quadrangle  is  for  the  most  part  a  lonely 
place.  Men  pass  through  the  melancholy  iron  gates  by 
which  that  quadrangle  is  entered  on  three  sides,  —  from 
Broad  Street,  from  the  Ratcliffe,  and  from  New  College 
Lane,  —  when  necessity  leads  them  that  way,  with  alert 


2  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

step  and  silently.  No  nursemaids  or  children  play  about 
it.  Nobody  lives  in  it.  Only  when  the  examinations  are 
going  on  you  may  see  a  few  hooded  figures  who  walk  as 
though  conscious  of  the  powers  of  academic  life  and  death 
which  they  wield,  and  a  good  deal  of  shuddering  under- 
graduate life  flitting  about  the  place,  — luckless  youths,  in 
white  ties  and  bands,  who  arc  undergoing  the  peine  forte 
et  dure  with  different  degrees  of  composure  ;  and  their 
friends  who  are  there  to  look  after  them.  You  may  go  in 
and  watch  the  torture  yourself  if  you  are  so  minded,  for 
the  viva  voce  schools  are  open  to  the  public.  But  one 
such  experiment  will  be  enough  for  you,  unless  you  are 
very  hard-hearted.  The  sight  of  the  long  table,  behind 
which  sit  Minos,  Rhadamanthus,  and  Co.,  full-robed,  stern 
of  face,  soft  of  speech,  seizing  their  victim  in  turn,  now 
letting  him  run  a  little  way  as  a  cat  does  a  mouse,  then 
drawing  him  back,  with  claw  of  wily  question,  probing  him 
on  this  side  and  that,  turning  him  inside  out,  —  the  row  of 
victims  opposite,  pale  or  flushed,  of  anxious  or  careless 
mien,  according  to  temperament,  but  one  and  all  on  the 
rack  as  they  bend  over  the  alloted  paper,  or  read  from  the 
well-thumbed  book,  —  the  scarcely-less-to-be-pitied  row 
behind,  of  future  victims,  "  sitting  for  the  schools,"  as  it  is 
called,  ruthlessly  brought  hither  by  statutes,  to  watch  the 
sufferings  they  must  hereafter  undergo,  —  should  fill  the 
friend  of  suffering  humanity  with  thoughts  too  deep  for 
tears.  Through  the  long  day  till  four  o'clock,  or  later,  the 
torture  lasts.  Then  the  last  victim  is  dismissed ;  the  men 
who  are  "  sitting  for  the  schools  "  fly  all  ways  to  their  col- 
leges, silently,  in  search  of  relief  to  their  over-wrought 
feelings,  —  probably  also  of  beer,  the  undergraduate's  uni- 
versal specific.  The  beadles  close  those  ruthless  doors  for 
a  mysterious  half-hour  on  the  examiners.  Outside  in  the 
quadrangle  collect  by  twos  and  threes  the  friends  of  the 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  3 

victims  waiting  for  the  re-opening  of  the  door  and  the  dis- 
tribution of  the  "  testamurs."  The  testamurs,  lady  readers 
will  be  pleased  to  understand,  are  certificates  under  the 
hands  of  the  examiners,  that  your  sons,  brothers,  husbands, 
perhaps,  have  successfully  undergone  the  torture.  But,  if 
husbands,  oh,  go  not  yourselves,  and  send  not  your  sons  to 
wait  for  the  testamur  of  the  head  of  your  house  ;  for  Ox- 
ford has  seldom  seen  a  sight  over  which  she  would  more 
willingly  draw  the  veil  with  averted  face  than  that  of  the 
youth  rushing  wildly,  dissolved  in  tears,  from  the  schools' 
quadrangle,  and  shouting,  "  Mamma !  papa's  plucked ; 
papa's  plucked !  " 

On  the  occasion  at  which  we  have  now  arrived,  the 
pass-schools  are  over  already  ;  the  paper-work  of  the  can- 
didates for  honors  has  been  going  on  for  the  last  week. 
Every  morning  our  three  St.  Ambrose  acquaintance  have 
mustered  with  the  rest  for  the  anxious  day's  work,  after 
such  breakfasts  as  they  have  been  able  to  eat  under  the 
circumstances.  They  take  their  work  in  very  different 
ways.  Grey  rushes  nervously  back  to  his  rooms  when- 
ever he  is  out  of  the  schools  for  ten  minutes,  to  look  up 
dates  and  dodges.  lie  worries  himself  sadly  over  every 
blunder  which  he  discovers  himself  to  have  made,  and  sits 
up  nearly  all  night  cramming,  always  hoping  for  a  better 
to-morrow.  Blake  keeps  up  his  affected  carelessness  to 
the  last,  quizzing  the  examiners,  laughing  over  the  shots 
he  has  been  making  in  the  last  paper.  His  shots,  it  must 
be  said,  turn  out  well  for  the  most  part ;  in  the  taste 
paper  particularly,  as  they  compare  notes,  he  seems 
to  have  almost  struck  the  bull's-eye  in  his  answers  to 
one  or  two  questions  which  Hardy  and  Grey  have 
passed  over  altogether.  When  he  is  wide  of  the  mark 
he  passes  it  off  with  some  jesting  remark  "  that  a  fool  can 
ask    in    five    minutes  more  questions  than    a   wise   man 


4  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

can  answer  in  a  week,"  or  wish  "  that  the  examiners  would 
play  fair,  and  change  sides  of  the  table  for  an  hour  with 
the  candidates,  for  a  finish."  But  he,  too,  though  he  does 
it  on  the  sly,  is  cramming  with  his  coach  at  every  availa- 
ble spare  moment.  Hardy  had  finished  his  reading  a  full 
thirty-six  hours  before  the  first  day  of  paper-work,  and 
had  braced  himself  for  the  actual  struggle  by  two  good 
nights'  rest  and  a  long  day  on  the  river  with  Tom.  He 
had  worked  hard  from  the  first,  and  so  had  really  mastered 
his  books.  And  now  feeling  that  he  has  fairly  and  hon- 
estly done  his  best,  and  that  if  he  fails  it  will  be  either  from 
bad  luck  or  natural  incapacity,  and  not  from  his  own  fault, 
he  manages  to  keep  a  cooler  head  than  any  of  his  compan- 
ions in  trouble. 

The  week's  paper-work  passes  off  uneventfully ;  then 
comes  the  viva  voce  work  for  the  candidates  for  honors. 
They  go  in  in  alphabetical  order,  four  a  day,  for  one  more 
day's  work,  the  hardest  of  all,  and  then  there  is  nothing 
more  to  do  but  wait  patiently  for  the  class  list.  On  these 
days  there  is  a  good  attendance  in  the  inclosed  space  to 
which  the  public  are  admitted.  The  front  seats  are  often 
occupied  by  the  private  tutors  of  the  candidates,  who  are 
there,  like  Newmarket  trainers,  to  see  the  performances  of 
their  stables,  marking  how  each  colt  bears  pressing  and 
comports  himself  when  the  pinch  comes.  They  watch  the 
examiners  too,  carefully,  to  see  what  line  they  take,  whether 
science,  or  history,  or  scholarship  is  likely  to  tell  most, 
that  they  may  handle  the  rest  of  their  starters  accordingly. 
Behind  them,  for  the  most  part,  on  the  hindermost  benches 
of  the  flight  of  raised  steps,  anxious  younger  brothers  and 
friends  sit,  for  a  few  minutes  at  a  time,  flitting  in  and  out 
in  much  unrest,  and  making  the  objects  of  their  solicitude 
more  nervous  than  ever  by  their  sympathy. 

It  ia  now  the  afternoon  of  the  second  day  of  the  vivd 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  5 

voce  examinations  in  honors.  Blake  is  one  of  the  men  in. 
His  tutor,  Hardy,  Grey,  Tom,  and  other  St.  Ambrose 
men,  have  all  been  in  the  schools  more  or  less  during  his 
examination,  and  now  Hardy  and  Tom  are  waiting  outside 
the  doors  for  the  issuing  of  the  testamurs. 

The  group  is  small  enough.  It  is  so  much  of  course 
that  a  class-man  should  get  his  testamur  that  there  is  no 
excitement  about  it ;  generally  the  man  himself  stops  t<? 
receive  it. 

The  only  anxious  faces  in  the  group  are  Tom's  and 
Hardy's.  They  have  not  exchanged  a  word  for  the  last 
few  minutes  in  their  short  walk  before  the  door.  Now 
the  examiners  come  out  and  walk  away  towards  their  col- 
leges, and  the  next  minute  the  door  again  opens  and  the 
clerk  of  the  schools  appears  with  the  slips  of  paper  in  his 
hand. 

"  Now  you'll  see  if  I'm  not  right,"  said  Hardy,  as  they 
gathered  to  the  door  with  the  rest.  "  I  tell  you  there  isn't 
the  least  chance  for  him." 

The  clerk  read  out  the  names  inscribed  on  the  testamurs 
which  he  held,  and  handed  them  to  the  owners. 

"  Haven't  you  one  for  Mr.  Blake  of  St.  Ambrose  ?  "  said 
Tom,  desperately,  as  the  clerk  was  closing  the  door. 

"  No,  sir ;  none  but  those  I  have  just  given  out,"  an- 
swered the  clerk,  shaking  his  head.  The  door  closed,  and 
they  turned  away  in  silence  for  the  first  minute. 

"  I  told  you  how  it  would  be,"  said  Hardy,  as  they 
passed  out  of  the  south  gate  into  the  Ratcliffe  Quadrangle. 

"  But  he  seemed  to  be  doing  so  well  when  I  was  in." 

"  You  were  not  there  at  the  time.  I  thought  at  first 
they  would  have  sent  him  out  of  the  schools  at  once." 

"In  hio  divinity,  wasn't  it?" 

"  Yes  ;  he  was  asked  to  repeat  one  of  the  Articles,  and 
didn't  know  three  words  of  it.  From  that  moment  I  saw 
1* 


6  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

it  was  all  over.  The  examiner  and  he  both  lost  their 
tempers,  and  it  went  from  bad  to  worse,  till  the  examiner 
remarked  that  he  could  have  answered  one  of  the  ques- 
tions he  was  asking  when  he  was  ten  years  old,  and  Blake 
replied,  So  could  he.  They  gave  him  a  paper  in  divinity 
afterwards,  but  you  could  see  there  was  no  chance  for 
him." 

"  Poor  fellow  !  what  will  he  do,  do  you  think  ?  How 
will  he  take  it?" 

"  I  can't  tell.  But  I'm  afraid  it  will  be  a  very  serious 
matter  for  him.  He  was  the  ablest  man  in  our  year  too. 
What  a  pity !  " 

They  got  into  St.  Ambrose  just  as  the  bell  for  afternoon 
chapel  was  going  down,  and  went  in.  Blake  was  there, 
and  one  look  showed  him  what  had  happened.  In  fact  he 
had  expected  nothing  else  all  day  since  his  breakdown  in 
the  Articles.  Tom  couldn't  help  watching  him  during 
chapel,  and  afterwards,  on  that  evening,  acknowledged  to 
a  friend  that  whatever  else  you  might  think  of  Blake,  there 
was  no  doubt  about  his  gameness. 

After  chapel  he  loitered  outside  the  door  in  the  quad- 
rangle, talking  just  as  usual,  and  before  Hall  he  loitered 
on  the  steps  in  well-feigned  carelessness.  Everybody  else 
was  thinking  of  his  breakdown  ;  some  with  real  sorrow 
and  sympathy  ;  others  as  of  any  other  nine-days'  wonder, 
—  pretty  much  as  if  the  favorite  for  the  Derby  had  broken 
down ;  others  with  ill-concealed  triumph,  for  Blake  had 
many  enemies  amongst  the  men.  He  himself  was  con- 
scious enough  of  what  they  were  thinking  of,  but  main- 
tained his  easy  gay  manner  through  it  all,  though  the  effort 
it  cost  him  was  tremendous.  The  only  allusion  he  made 
to  what  had  happened  which  Tom  heard  was  when  he 
asked  him  to  wine. 

"Are  you  engaged  to-night,  Brown?"  he  said.     Tom 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFOKD.  ( 

answered  in  the  negative.  "  Come  to  me,  then,"  he  went 
on.  "  You  won't  get  another  chance  in  St.  Ambrose.  I 
have  a  few  bottles  of  old  wine  left ;  we  may  as  well  floor 
them  ;  they  won't  bear  moving  to  a  Hall  with  their  mas- 
ter." 

And  then  he  turned  to  some  other  men  and  asked  them, 
every  one  in  fact  whom  he  came  across,  especially  the 
dominant  fast  set  with  whom  he  had  chieily  lived.  These 
young  gentlemen  (of  whom  we  had  a  glimpse  at  the  out- 
set, but  whose  company  we  have  carefully  avoided  ever 
since,  seeing  that  their  sayings  and  doings  were  of  a  kind 
of  which  the  less  said  the  better)  had  been  steadily  going 
on  in  their  way,  getting  more  and  more  idle,  reckless,  and 
insolent.  Their  doings  had  been  already  so  scandalous  on 
several  occasions  as  to  call  for  solemn  meetings  of  the 
college  authorities ;  but,  no  vigorous  measures  having  fol- 
lowed, such  deliberations  had  only  made  matters  worse, 
and  given  the  men  a  notion  that  they  could  do  what  they 
pleased  with  impunity.  This  night  the  climax  had  come ; 
it  was  as  though  the  flood  of  misrule  had  at  last  broken 
banks  and  overflowed  the  whole  college. 

For  two  hours  the  wine  party  in  Blake's  large  ground- 
floor  rooms  was  kept  up  with  a  wild  reckless  mirth,  in 
keeping  with  the  host's  temper.  Blake  was  on  his  mettle. 
lie  had  asked  every  man  with  whom  he  had  a  speaking 
acquaintance,  as  if  he  wished  to  face  out  his  disaster  at 
once  to  the  whole  world.  Many  of  the  men  came  feeling 
uncomfortable,  and  would  sooner  have  stayed  away  and 
treated  the  pluck  as  a  real  misfortune.  But  after  all 
Blake  was  the  best  judge  of  how  he  liked  it  to  be  treated, 
and,  if  he  had  a  fancy  for  giving  a  great  wine  on  the 
occasion,  the  civilest  thing  to  do  was  to  go  to  it.  And  so 
they  went,  and  wondered  as  much  as  he  could  desire  at 
the  brilliant  coolness  of  their  host,  speculating  and  doubt- 


8  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

ing  nevertheless  in  their  own  secret  hearts  whether  it 
wasn't  acting  after  all.  Acting  it  was,  no  doubt,  and  not 
worth  the  doing;  no  acting  is.  But  one  must  make 
allowances.  No  two  men  take  a  thing  just  alike,  and 
very  few  can  sit  down  quietly  when  they  have  lost  a  fall 
in  life's  wrestle,  and  say,  "  Well,  here  I  am,  beaten  no 
doubt  this  time.  By  my  own  fault  too.  Now,  take  a 
good  look  at  me,  my  good  friends,  as  I  know  you  all  want 
to  do,  and  say  your  say  out,  for  I  mean  getting  up  again 
directly  and  having  another  turn  at  it." 

Blake  drank  freely  himself,  and  urged  his  guests  to 
drink,  which  was  a  superfluous  courtesy  for  the  most  part. 
Many  of  the  men  left  his  rooms  considerably  excited. 
They  had  dispersed  for  an  hour  or  so  to  billiards,  or  a 
stroll  in  the  town,  and  at  ten  o'clock  reassembled  at  sup- 
per parties,  of  which  there  were  several  in  college  this 
evening,  especially  a  monster  one  at  Chanter's  rooms  — 
a  "  champagne  supper,"  as  he  had  carefully  and  osten- 
tatiously announced  on  the  cards  of  invitation.  This 
flaunting  the  champagne  in  their  faces  had  been  resented 
by  Drysdale  and  others,  who  drank  his  champagne  in 
tumblers,  and  then  abused  it  and  clamored  for  beer  in 
the  middle  of  the  supper.  Chanter,  whose  prodigality  in 
some  ways  was  only  exceeded  by  his  general  meanness, 
had  lost  his  temper  at  this  demand,  and  insisted  that,  if 
they  wanted  beer,  they  might  send  for  it  themselves,  for 
he  wouldn't  pay  for  it.  This  protest  was  treated  with 
uproarious  contempt,  and  gallons  of  ale  soon  made  their 
appearance  in  college  jugs  and  tankards.  The  tables 
were  cleared,  and  songs  (most  of  them  of  more  than 
doubtful  character),  cigars,  and  all  sorts  of  compounded 
drinks,  from  claret  cup  to  egg  flip,  succeeded.  The  com- 
pany, recruited  constantly  as  men  came  into  college,  was 


TOM   BEOWN   AT    OXFORD.  9 

getting  more  and  more  excited  every  minute.  The  scouts 
cleared  away  and  carried  off  all  relics  of  the  supper,  and 
then  left ;  still  the  revel  went  on,  till,  by  midnight,  the 
men  were  ripe  for  any  mischief  or  folly  -which  those 
among  them  who  retained  any  brains  at  all  could  suggest. 
The  signal  for  breaking  up  was  given  by  the  host's  falling 
from  his  seat.  Some  of  the  men  rose  with  a  shout  to  put 
him  to  bed,  which  they  accomplished  with  difficulty,  after 
dropping  him  several  times,  and  left  him  to  snore  off  the 
effects  of  his  debauch  with  one  of  his  boots  on.  Others 
took  to  doing  what  mischief  occurred  to  them  in  his  rooms. 
One  man,  mounted  on  a  chair  with  a  cigar  in  his  mouth 
which  had  gone  out,  was  employed  in  pouring  the  contents 
of  a  champagne  bottle  with  unsteady  hand  into  the  clock 
on  the  mantel-piece.  Chanter  was  a  particular  man  in 
this  sort  of  furniture,  and  his  clock  was  rather  a  speciality. 
It  was  a  large  bronze  figure  of  Atlas,  supporting  the 
globe  in  the  shape  of  a  time-piece.  Unluckily  the  maker, 
not  anticipating  the  sort  of  test  to  which  his  work  would 
be  subjected,  had  ingeniously  left  the  hole  for  winding  up 
in  the  top  of  the  clock,  so  that  unusual  facilities  existed 
for  drowning  the  world  carrier,  and  he  was  already  almost 
at  his  last  tick.  One  or  two  men  were  morally  aiding  and 
qbetting,  and  physically  supporting  the  experimenter  on 
•clocks,  who  found  it  difficult  to  stand  to  his  work  by  him- 
self. Another  knot  of  young  gentlemen  stuck  to  the 
tables,  and  so  continued  to  shout  out  scraps  of  song, 
sometimes  standing  on  their  chairs,  and  sometimes 
tumbling  off  them.  Another  set  were  employed  on  the 
amiable  work  of  pouring  beer  and  sugar  into  three  new 
{fairs  of  polished  leather  dress  boots,  with  colored  tops 
to  them,  which  they  discovered  in  the  dressing-room. 
Certainly,    as  they   remarked,    Chanter   could   have    no 


10  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

possible  use  for  so  many  dress  boots  at  once,  and  it  was  a 
pity  the  beer  should  be  wasted ;  but  on  the  whole,  perhaps, 
the  materials  were  never  meant  for  combination,  and  had 
better  have  been  kept  apart.  Others  had  gone  away  to 
break  into  the  kitchen,  headed  by  one  who  had  just  come 
into  college  and  vowed  he  would  have  some  supper ;  and 
others,  to  screw  up  an  unpopular  tutor,  or  to  break  into 
the  rooms  of  some  inoffensive  freshman.  The  remainder 
mustered  on  the  grass  in  the  quadrangle,  and  began 
playing  leap-frog  and  larking  one  another.  Amongst 
these  last  was  our  hero,  who  had  been  at  Blake's  wine 
and  one  of  the  quieter  supper  parties ;  and,  though  not 
so  far  gone  as  most  of  his  companions,  was  by  no  means 
in  a  state  in  which  he  would  have  cared  to  meet  the  Dean. 
He  lent  his  hearty  aid  accordingly  to  swell  the  noise  and 
tumult,  which  was  becoming  something  out  of  the  way 
even  for  St.  Ambrose's.  As  the  leap-frog  was  flagging, 
Drysdale  suddenly  appeared  carrying  some  silver  plates 
which  were  used  on  solemn  occasions  in  the  common  room, 
and  allowed  to  be  issued  on  special  application  for  gentle- 
men commoners'  parties.     A  rush  was  made  towards  him. 

"  Halloo,  here's  Drysdale  with  lots  of  swag,"  shouted 
one.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  with  it  ?  "  cried  another. 
Drysdale  paused  a  moment  with  the  peculiarly  sapient 
look  of  a  tipsy  man  who  has  suddenly  lost  the  thread  of 
his  ideas,  and  then  suddenly  broke  out  with  — 

"Hang  it;  I  forget.  But  let's  play  at  quoits  with 
them." 

The  proposal  was  received  with  applause,  and  the  game 
began,  but  Drysdale  soon  left  it.  He  had  evidently  some 
notion  in  his  head  which  would  not  suffer  him  to  turn  to 
any  thing  else  till  he  had  carried  it  out.  He  went  off 
accordingly  to  Chanter's  rooms,  while  the  quoits  went  on 
in  the  front  quadrangle. 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  11 

About  this  time,  however,  the  Dean  and  bursar,  and 
the  tutors  who  lived  in  college,  began  to  be  conscious  that 
something  unusual  was  going  on.  They  were  quite  used 
to  distant  choruses,  and  great  noises  in  the  men's  rooms, 
and  to  a  fair  amount  of  shouting  and  skylarking  in  the 
quadrangle,  and  were  long-suffering  men  not  given  to 
interfering ;  but  there  must  be  an  end  to  all  endurance, 
and  the  state  of  things  which  had  arrived  could  no  longer 
be  met  by  a  turn  in  bed  and  a  growl  at  the  uproars  and 
follies  of  undergraduates. 

Presently  some  of  the  rioters  on  the  grass  caught  sight 
of  a  figure  gliding  along  the  side  of  the  quadrangle 
towards  the  Dean's  staircase.  A  shout  arose  that  the 
enemy  was  up,  but  little  heed  was  paid  to  it  by  the  greater 
number.  Then  another  figure  passed  from  the  Dean's 
staircase  to  the  porter's  lodge.  Those  of  the  men  who 
had  any  sense  left  saw  that  it  was  time  to  quit,  and,  after 
warning  the  rest,  went  off  towards  their  rooms.  Tom  on 
his  way  to  his  staircase  caught  sight  of  a  figure  seated  in 
a  remote  corner  of  the  inner  quadrangle,  and  made  for  it, 
impelled  by  natural  curiosity.  He  found  Drysdale  seated 
on  the  ground  with  several  silver  tankards  by  his  side, 
employed  to  the  best  of  his  powers  in  digging  a  hole  with 
one  of  the  college  carving-knives. 

"  Hollo,  Drysdale  !  what  are  you  up  to  ?  "  he  shouted, 
laying  his  hand  on  his  shoulder. 

"  Providing  for  poshterity,"  replied  Drysdale,  gravely, 
without  looking  up. 

"  What  the  deuce  do  you  mean  ?  Don't  be  such  an  ass. 
The  Dean  will  be  out  in  a  minute.    Get  up  and  come  along." 

"  I  tell  you,  old  fellow,"  said  Drysdale,  somewhat  inar- 
ticulately, and  driving  his  knife  into  the  ground  again, 
"  the  dons  are  going  to  spout  the  college  plate.  So  I  am 
burying  these  articles  for  poshterity  —  " 


12  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Hang  posterity,"  said  Tom ;  "  come  along  directly,  or 
you'll  be  caught  and  rusticated." 

"  Go  to  bed,  Brown  —  you're  drunk,  Brown,"  replied 
Drysdale,  continuing  his  work,  and  striking  the  carving- 
knife  into  the  ground  so  close  to  his  own  thigh  that  it 
made  Tom  shudder. 

"  Here  they  are  then,"  he  cried  the  next  moment,  seiz- 
ing Drysdale  by  the  arm,  as  a  rush  of  men  came  through 
the  passage  into  the  back  quadrangle,  shouting  and  tum- 
bling along,  and  making  in  small  groups  for  the  different 
staircases.  The  Dean  and  two  of  the  tutors  followed,  and 
the  porter  bearing  a  lantern.  There  was  no  time  to  be 
lost ;  so  Tom,  after  one  more  struggle  to  pull  Drysdale 
up  and  hurry  him  off,  gave  it  up,  and  leaving  him  to  his 
fate,  ran  across  to  his  own  staircase. 

For  the  next  half-hour  the  Dean  and  his  party  patrolled 
the  college,  and  succeeded  at  last  in  restoring  order, 
though  not  without  some  undignified  and  disagreeable  pas- 
sages. The  lights  on  the  staircases,  which  generally 
burnt  all  night,  were  of  course  put  out  as  they  approached. 
On  the  first  staircase  which  they  stormed,  the  porter's 
lantern  was  knocked  out  of  his  hand  by  an  unseen  adver- 
sary, and  the  light  put  out  on  the  bottom  stairs.  On  the 
first  landing  the  bursar  trod  on  a  small  terrier  belonging 
to  a  fast  freshman,  and  the  dog  naturally  thereupon  bit 
the  bursar's  leg ;  while  his  master  and  other  enfants  per- 
dus,  taking  advantage  of  the  diversion,  rushed  down  the 
dark  stairs,  past  the  party  of  order,  and  into  the  quad- 
rangle, where  they  scattered  amidst  a  shout  of  laughter. 
While  the  porter  was  gone  for  a  light,  the  Dean  and  his 
party  rashly  ventured  on  a  second  ascent.  Here  an  un- 
expected catastrophe  awaited  them.  On  the  top  landing 
lived  one  of  the  steadiest  men  in  college,  whose  door  had 
been  tried  shortly  before.  He  had  been  roused  out  of  his 
first  sleep,  and,  vowing  vengeance  on  the  next  comers. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  13 

stood  behind  his  oak,  holding  his  brown  George,  or  huge 
earthenware  receptacle,  half  full  of  dirty  water,  in  which 
his  bed-maker  had  been  washing  up  his  tea-things.  Hear- 
ing stealthy  steps  and  whisperings  on  the  stairs  below,  he 
suddenly  threw  open  his  oak,  discharging  the  whole  con- 
tents of  his  brown  George  on  the  approaching  authorities, 
with  a  shout  of,  "  Take  that  for  your  skulking." 

The  exasperated  Dean  and  tutors  rushing  on,  seized 
on  their  astonished  and  innocent  assailant,  and  after  re- 
ceiving explanations,  and  the  offer  of  clean  towels,  hur- 
ried off  again  after  the  real  enemy.  And  now  the  porter 
appeared  again  with  the  light,  and,  continuing  their 
rounds,  they  apprehended  and  disarmed  Drysdale,  col- 
lected the  college  plate,  marked  down  others  of  the  rioters, 
visited  Chanter's  rooms,  held  a  parley  with  the  one  of 
their  number  who  was  screwed  up  in  his  rooms,  and  dis- 
covered that  the  bars  had  been  wrenched  out  of  the 
kitchen  window.  After  which  they  retired  to  sleep  on 
their  indignation,  and  quietly  settled  down  again  on  the 
ancient  and  venerable  college. 

The  next  morning  at  chapel  many  of  the  revellers  met ; 
in  fact,  there  was  a  fuller  attendance  than  usual,  for  every 
one  felt  that  something  serious  must  be  pending.  After 
such  a  night  the  dons  must  make  a  stand,  or  give  up  alto- 
gether. The  most  reckless  only  of  the  fast  set  were  ab- 
sent. St.  Cloud  was  there",  dressed  even  more  precisely 
than  usual,  and  looking  as  if  he  were  in  the  habit  of  going 
to  bed  at  ten,  and  had  never  heard  of  milk  punch.  Tom 
turned  out  not  much  the  worse  himself,  but  in  his 
heart  feeling  not  a  little  ashamed  of  the  whole  business  ; 
of  the  party,  the  men ;  but  above  all,  of  himself.  He 
thrust  the  shame  back,  however,  as  well  as  he  could,  and 
put  a  cool  face  on  it.  Probably  most  of  the  men  were  in 
much  the  same  state  of  mind.     Even  in  St.  Ambrose's, 

reckless  and  vicious  as  the  college  had  become,  by  fur  the 
2 


14  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

greater  part  of  the  undergraduates  would  gladly  have 
seen  a  change  in  the  direction  of  order  and  decency,  and 
were  sick  of  the  wretched  license  of  doing  right  in  their 
own  eyes,  and  wrong  in  every  one's  else. 

As  the  men  trooped  out  of  chapel,  they  formed  in  cor- 
ners of  the  quadrangle,  except  the  reading  set,  who  went 
off  quietly  to  their  rooms.  There  was  a  pause  of  a 
minute  or  two.  Neither  principal,  dean,  tutor,  nor  fel- 
low, followed  as  on  ordinary  occasions.  "  They're  hatch- 
ing something  in  the  outer  chapel,"  said  one. 

"  It'll  be  a  coarse  time  for  Chanter,  I  take  it,"  said 
another. 

"  Was  your  name  sent  to  the  buttery  for  his  supper?" 

"  No,  I  took  d — d  good  care  of  that,"  said  St.  Cloud, 
who  was  addressed. 

"  Drysdale  was  caught ;  wasn't  he  ?  " 

"  So  I  hear,  and  nearly  frightened  the  dean  and  the 
porter  out  of  their  wits  by  staggering  after  them  with  a 
carving-knife." 

"  He'll  be  sacked,  of  course." 

"  Much  he'll  care  for  that." 

"  Here  they  come,  then ;  by  Jove,  how  black  they  look  !  " 

The  authorities  now  came  out  of  the  antechapel  door, 
and  walked  slowly  across  towards  the  principal's  house  in 
a  body.  At  this  moment,  as  ill-luck  would  have  it,  Jack 
trotted  into  the  front  quadrangle,  dragging  after  him  the 
light  steel  chain  with  which  he  was  usually  fastened  up  in 
Drysdale's  scout's  room  at  night.  He  came  innocently 
towards  one  and  another  of  the  groups,  and  retired  from 
each  much  astonished  at  the  low  growl  with  which  his 
acquaintance  was  repudiated  on  all  sides. 

"Porter,  whose  dog  is  that?"  said  the  Dean,  catching 
sight  of  him. 

"Mr.  Drysdale's  dog,  sir,  I  think,  sir,"  answered  the 
porter. 


TOM   BROWN.  AT    OXFORD.  15 

"  Probably  the  animal  who  bit  me  last  night,"  said  the 
bursar.  His  knowledge  of  dogs  was  small ;  if  Jack  had 
fastened  on  him  he  would  probably  have  been  in  bed  from 
the  effects. 

"  Turn  the  dog  out  of  college,"  said  the  Dean. 

"  Please,  sir,  he's  a  very  savage  dog,  sir,"  said  the  por- 
ter, whose  respect  for  Jack  was  unbounded. 

"  Turn  him  out  immediately,"  replied  the  Dean. 

The  wretched  porter,  arming  himself  with  a  broom 
approached  Jack,  and  after  some  coaxing  managed  to 
catch  hold  of  the  end  of  his  chain,  and  began  to  lead  him 
towards  the  gates,  carefully  holding  out  the  broom  tow- 
ards Jack's  nose  with  his  other  hand,  to  protect  himself. 
Jack  at  first  hauled  away  at  his  chain,  and  then  began 
circling  round  the  porter  at  the  full  extent  of  it,  evidently 
meditating  an  attack.  Notwithstanding  the  seriousness 
of  the  situation,  the  ludicrous  alarm  of  the  porter  set  the 
men  laughing. 

"  Come  along,  or  Jack  will  be  pinning  the  wretched 
Copas,"  said  Jervis,  and  he  and  Tom  stepped  up  to  the 
terrified  little  man,  and,  releasing  him,  led  Jack,  who  knew 
them  both  well,  out  of  college. 

"  Were  you  at  that  supper  party,"  said  Jervis,  as  they 
deposited  Jack  with  an  ostler,  who  was  lounging  outside 
the  gates  to  be  taken  to  Drysdale's  stables. 

"  No,"  said  Tom. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,  there  will  be  a  pretty  clean  sweep 
after  last  night's  doings." 

"  But  I  was  in  the  quadrangle  when  they  came  out." 

"  Not  caught,  eh  ?  "  said  Jervis. 

"  No,  luckily  I  got  to  my  own  rooms  at  once." 

"  Were  any  of  the  crew  caught  ?  " 

"  Not  that  I  know  of." 

"  Well,  we  shall  hear  enough  of  it  before  lecture  time.' 


16  TOM  BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

Jervis  was  right.  There  was  a  meeting  in  the  common 
room  directly  after  breakfast.  Drysdale  anticipating  his 
fate,  took  his  name  off  before  they  sent  for  him.  Chanter 
and  three  or  four  others  were  rusticated  for  a  year,  and 
Blake  was  ordered  to  go  down  at  once.  He  was  a 
scholar,  and  what  was  to  be  done  in  his  case  would  be  set- 
tled at  the  meeting  at  the  end  of  term. 

For  twenty-four  hours  it  was  supposed  that  St.  Cloud 
had  escaped  altogether,  but  at  the  end  of  that  time  he  was 
summoned  before  a  meeting  in  the  common  room.  The 
tutor,  whose  door  had  been  so  effectually  screwed  up  that 
he  had  been  obliged  to  get  out  of  his  window  by  a  ladder 
to  attend  morning  chapel,  proved  wholly  unable  to  appre- 
ciate the  joke,  and  set  himself  to  work  to  discover  the 
perpetrators  of  it.  The  door  was  fastened  with  long 
gimlets,  which  were  screwed  firmly  in,  and  when  driven 
well  home  their  heads  had  been  knocked  off.  The  tutor 
collected  the  shafts  of  the  gimlets  from  the  carpenter,  who 
came  to  effect  an  entry  for  him  ;  and  after  careful 
examination,  discovered  the  trade  mark.  So,  putting 
them  in  his  pocket,  he  walked  off  into  the  town,  and  soon 
came  back  with  the  information  he  required,  which  resulted 
in  the  rustication  of  St.  Cloud,  an  event  which  was  borne 
by  the  college  with  the  greatest  equanimity. 

Shortly  afterwards  Tom  attended  in  the  schools'  quad- 
rangle again,  to  be  present  at  the  posting  of  the  class  list. 
This  time  there  were  plenty  of  anxious  faces ;  the 
quadrangle  was  full  of  them.  He  felt  almost  as  nervous 
himself  as  if  he  were  waiting  for  the  third  gun.  He 
thrust  himself  forward,  and  was  amongst  the  first  who 
caught  sight  of  the  document.  One  look  was  enough  for 
him,  and  the  next  moment  he  was  off  at  full  speed  to  St. 
Ambrose,  and,  rushing  headlong  into  Hardy's  rooms, 
seized  him  by  the  hand,  and  shook  it  vehemently. 


TOM   BltOWN    AT    OXFORD.  17 

"  It's  all  right,  old  fellow,"  he  cried,  as  soon  as  he  could 
catch  his  breath ;  "  it's  all  right.  Four  firsts  ;  you're  one 
of  them :  well  done  ! " 

"  And  Grey,  where's  he  ?  is  he  all  right  ?  " 

"  Bless  me,  I  forgot  to  look,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  only  read 
the  firsts,  and  then  come  off  as  hard  as  I  could." 

"  Then  he  is  not  a  first." 

"  No ;  I'm  sure  of  that." 

"  I  must  go  and  see  him  ;  he  deserved  it  far  more  than 
I." 

"  No,  by  Jove,  old  boy !  "  said  Tom,  seizing  him  again 
by  the  hand,  "  that  he  didn't ;  nor  any  man  that  ever  went 
into  the  schools." 

"  Thank  you,  Brown,"  said  Hardy,  returning  his  warm 
grip.  "  You  do  one  good.  Now  to  see  poor  Grey,  and 
to  write  to  my  dear  old  father  before  Hall.  Fancy  him 
opening  the  letter  at  breakfast  the  day  after  to-morrow  ! 
I  only  hope  it  won't  hurt  him." 

"  Never  fear.  I  don't  believe  in  people  dying  of  joy, 
and  any  thing  short  of  sudden  death  he  won't  mind  at  the 
price." 

Hardy  hurried  off,  and  Tom  went  to  his  own  rooms,  and 
smoked  a  cigar  to  allay  his  excitement,  and  thought  about 
his  friend  and  all  they  had  felt  together  and  laughed  and 
mourned  over  in  the  short  months  of  their  friendship.  A 
pleasant  dreamy  half-hour  he  spent  thus,  till  the  hall  bell 
roused  him,  and  he  made  his  toilette  and  went  to  his 
dinner. 

It  Avas  with  very  mixed  feelings  that  Hardy  walked  by 
the  servitors'  table  and  took  his  seat  with  the  bachelors, 
an  equal  at  last  amongst  equals.  No  man  who  is  worth 
his  salt  can  leave  a  place  where  he  has  gone  through  hard 
and  searching  discipline  and  been  tried  in  the  very  depths 
of  his  heart  without  regret,  however  much  he  may  have 
2* 


18  TOM   BKOWN.AT   OXFORD. 

winced  under  the  discipline.  It  is  no  light  thing  to  fold 
up  and  lay  by  forever  a  portion  of  one's  life,  even  when 
it  can  be  laid  by  with  honor  and  in  thankfulness. 

But  it  was  with  no  mixed  feelings,  but  with  a  sense  of 
entire  triumph  and  joy,  that  Tom  watched  his  friend 
taking  his  new  place,  and  the  Dons  one  after  another 
coming  up  and  congratulating  him,  and  treating  him  as 
the  man  who  had  done  honor  to  them  and  his  college. 


CHAPTER  II. 

COMMEMORATION. 

The  end  of  the  academic  year  was  now  at  hand,  and 
Oxford  was  beginning  to  put  on  her  gayest  clothing.  The 
college  gardeners  were  in  a  state  of  unusual  activity,  and 
the  lawns  and  flower-beds,  which  form  such  exquisite 
settings  to  many  of  the  venerable  grey-gabled  buildings, 
were  as  neat  and  as  bright  as  hands  could  make  them. 
Cooks,  butlers,  and  their  assistants,  were  bestirring  them- 
selves in  kitchen  and  butlery,  under  the  direction  of 
bursars  jealous  of  the  fame  of  their  houses,  in  the 
preparation  of  the  abundant  and  solid  fare  with  which 
Oxford  is  wont  to  entertain  all  comers.  Every  thing  the 
best  of  its  kind,  no  stint  but  no  nonsense,  seems  to  be  the 
wise  rule  which  the  University  hands  down  and  lives  up 
to  in  these  matters.  However  we  may  differ  as  to  her 
degeneracy  in  other  departments,  all  who  have  ever  visited 
her  will  admit  that  in  this  of  hospitality  she  is  still  a  great 
national  teacher,  acknowledging  and  preaching  by  exam- 
ple the  fact,  that  eating  and  drinking  are  important  parts 
of  man's  life,  which  are  to  be  allowed  their  due  promi- 
nence, and  not  thrust  into  a  corner,  but  arc  to  be  done 
soberly  and  thankfully,  in  the  sight  of  God  and  man. 
The  coaches  were  bringing  in  heavy  loads  of  visitors  ; 
carriages  of  all  kinds  were  coming  in  from  the  neighboring 
counties ;  and  lodgings  in  the  High  Street  were  going  up 
to  fabulous  prices. 

In  one  of  these  Iliirh  Street  lod^in^s,  on  the  evening 


20  TOM  BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

of  the  Saturday  before  Commemoration,  Miss  Winter  and 
her  cousin  are  sitting.  They  have  been  in  Oxford  during 
the  greater  part  of  the  day,  having  posted  up  from  Engle- 
bourne,  but  they  have  only  just  come  in,  for  the  younger 
lady  is  still  in  her  bonnet,  and  Miss  Winter's  lies  on  the 
table.  The  windows  are  wide  open,  and  Miss  Winter  is 
sitting  at  one  of  them,  while  her  cousin  is  busied  in 
examining  the  furniture  and  decorations  of  their  tempo- 
rary home,  now  commenting  upon  these,  now  pouring  out 
praises  of  Oxford. 

"  Isn't  it  too  charming  ?  I  never  dreamt  that  any  town 
could  be  so  beautiful.  Don't  you  feel  wild  about  it, 
Katie?" 

"  It  is  the  queen  of  towns,  dear.  But  I  know  it  well, 
you  see,  so  that  I  can't  be  quite  so  enthusiastic  as  you." 

"  Oh,  those  dear  gardens  !  what  was  the  name  of  those 
ones  with  the  targets  up,  where  they  were  shooting? 
Don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"New  College    Gardens,  on   the   old   city  walls,  you 


mean 


?»' 


"  No,  no.  They  were  very  nice  and  sentimental.  I 
should  like  to  go  and  sit  and  read  poetry  there.  But  I 
mean  the  big  ones,  the  gorgeous,  princely  ones  ;  with 
wicked  old  Bishop  Laud's  gallery  looking  into  them." 

"Oh!  St.  John's, .of  course." 

"  Yes,  St.  John's.     Why  do  you  hate  Laud  so,  Katie?" 

"  I  don't  hate  him,  dear.  He  was  a  Berkshire  man, 
you  know.  But  I  think  he  did  a  great  deal  of  harm  to 
the  Church." 

"  How  do  you  think  my  new  silk  looked  in  the  gardens  ? 
How  lucky  I  brought  it,  wasn't  it?  I  shouldn't  have 
liked  to  have  been  in  nothing  but  muslins.  They  don't 
suit  here  ;  you  want  something  richer  amongst  the  old 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  21 

buildings,  and  on  the  beautiful  velvety  turf  of  the  gardens. 
How  do  you  think  I  looked  ?  " 

"  You  looked  like  a  queen,  dear  ;  or  a  lady  in  waiting, 
at  least." 

"  Yes,  a  lady  in  waiting  on  Henrietta  Maria.  Didn't 
you  hear  one  of  the  gentlemen  say  that  she  was  lodged  in 
St.  John's  when  Charles  marched  to  relieve  Gloucester  ? 
Ah !  can't  you  fancy  her  sweeping  about  the  gardens,  with 
her  ladies  following  her,  and  Bishop  Laud  walking  just  a 
little  behind  her,  and  talking  in  a  low  voice  about  —  let 
me  see  —  something  very  important!  " 

"  O  Mary  !  where  has  your  history  gone?  He  was 
Archbishop,  and  was  safely  locked  up  in  the  Tower." 

"  "Well,  perhaps  he  was  ;  then  he  couldn't  be  with  her, 
of  course.  How  stupid  of  you  to  remember,  Katie. 
Why  can't  you  make  up  your  mind  to  enjoy  yourself 
when  you  come  out  for  a  holiday  ?  " 

"  I  sbouldn't  enjoy  myself  any  the  more  for  forgetting 
dates,"  said  Katie,  laughing. 

"  Ob,  you  would  though !  only  try.  But,  let  me  see,  it 
can't  be  Laud.  Then  it  shall  be  that  cruel  drinking  old 
man,  with  the  wooden  leg  made  of  gold,  who  was  governor 
of  Oxford  when  the  king  was  away.  He  must  be  hob- 
bling along  after  the  queen  in  a  buff  coat  and  breast-plate, 
holding  his  hat  with  a  long  drooping  white  feather  in  his 
hand." 

"  But  you  wouldn't  like  it  at  all,  Mary  ;  it  would  be  too 
serious  for  you.  The  poor  queen  would  be  too  anxious 
to  gossip,  and  you  ladies  in  waiting  would  be  obliged  to 
walk  after  her  without  saying  a  word." 

"  Yes,  that  would  be  stupid.  But  then  she  would  have 
to  go  away  with  the  old  governor  to  write  dispatches ;  and 
some  of  the  young  officers  with  long  hair  and  beautiful 
lace  sleeves,  and  large  boots,  whom  the  king  had  left  be- 


22  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

hind,  wounded,  might  come  and  walk  perhaps,  or  sit  in  the 
sun  in  the  quiet  gardens." 

Mary  looked  over  her  shoulder  with  the  merriest  twinkle 
in  her  eye,  to  see  how  her  steady  cousin  would  take  this 
last  picture.  "  The  college  authorities  would  never  allow 
that,"  she  said,  quietly,  still  looking  out  of  the  window ; 
"if  you  wanted  beaus,  you  must  have  them  in  black 
gowns." 

"  They  would  have  been  jealous  of  the  soldiers,  you 
think  ?  Well,  I  don't  mind  ;  the  black  gowns  are  very 
pleasant,  only  a  little  stiff.  But  how  do  you  think  my 
bonnet  looked  ?  " 

"  Charmingly.  But  when  are  you  going  to  have  done 
looking  in  the  glass  ?  You  don't  care  for  the  buildings,  I 
believe,  a  bit  Come  and  look  at  St.  Mary's;  there  is  such 
a  lovely  light  on  the  steeple  !  " 

"  I'll  come  directly,  but  I  must  get  these  flowers  right 
I'm  sure  there  are  too  many  in  this  trimming." 

Mary  was  tiying  her  new  bonnet  on  over  and  over 
again  before  the  mantel-glass,  and  pulling  out  and  chang- 
ing the  places  of  the  blush-rose  buds  with  which  it  was 
trimmed.  Just  then  a  noise  of  wheels,  accompanied  by  a 
merry  tune  on  a  cornopean,  came  in  from  the  street. 

"  "What's  that,  Katie  ?  "  she  cried,  stopping  her  work  for 
a  moment. 

"  A  coach  coming  up  from  Magdalen  bridge.  I  think 
it  is  a  cricketing  party  coming  home." 

"  Oh,  let  me  see ! "  and  she  tripped  across  to  the  window, 
bonnet  in  hand,  and  stood  beside  her  cousin.  And  then, 
sure  enough,  a  coach  covered  with  cricketers  returning 
from  a  match,  drove  past  the  window.  The  young  ladies 
looked  out  at  first  with  great  curiosity ;  but  suddenly  find- 
ing themselves  the  mark  for  a  whole  coach-load  of  male 
eyes,  shrank  back  a  little  before  the  cricketers  had  passed 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  23 

on  towards  the  "  Mitre."  As  the  coach  passed  out  of  sight, 
Mary  gave  a  pretty  toss  of  her  head,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  they  don't  want  for  assurance,  at  any  rate.  I 
think  they  needn't  have  stared  so." 

"  It  was  our  fault,"  said  Katie ;  "  we  shouldn't  have  been 
at  the  window.  Besides,  you  know  you  are  to  be  a  lady 
in  waiting  on  Henrietta  Maria  up  here,  and  of  course  you 
must  get  used  to  being  stared  at." 

"  Oh,  yes !  but  that  was  to  be  by  young  gentlemen 
wounded  in  the  wars,  in  lace  ruffles,  as  one  sees  them  in 
pictures.  That's  a  very  different  thing  from  young  gen- 
tlemen in  flannel  trousers  and  straw  hats,  driving  up  the 
High  Street  on  coaches.  I  declare  one  of  them  had  the 
impudence  to  bow,  as  if  lie  knew  you." 

"  So  he  does.     That  was  my  cousin." 

"  Your  cousin  !  Ah,  I  remember  !  Then  he  must  be 
my  cousin  too." 

"  No,  not  at  all.     He  is  no  relation  of  yours." 

"  "Well,  I  sha'n't  break  my  heart.  But  is  he  a  good 
partner?" 

"  I  should  say,  yes.  But  I  hardly  know.  We  used  to 
•  be  a  great  deal  together  as  children,  but  papa  has  been 
such  an  invalid  lately." 

"  Ah  !  I  wonder  how  uncle  is  getting  on  at  the  Vice- 
Chancellor's.  Look,  it  is  past  eight  by  St.  Mary's.  When 
were  we  to  go  ?  " 

"  We  were  asked  for  nine." 

"  Then  we  must  go  and  dress.  Will  it  be  very  slow 
and  stiff,  Katie  ?  I  wish  we  were  going  to  something  not 
quite  so  grand." 

"  You'll  find  it  very  pleasant,  I  dare  say." 

"  There  won't  be  any  dancing,  though,  I  know  ;  will 
there  ?  " 

"  No ;  I  should  think  certainly  not." 


24  TOM    BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Dear  me !  I  hope  there  will  be  some  young  men 
there,  —  I  shall  be  so  shy,  I  know,  if  there  are  nothing  but 
wise  people.  How  do  you  talk  to  a  Regius  Professor, 
Katie  ?     It  must  be  awful." 

"  He  will  probably  be  at  least  as  uncomfortable  as  you, 
dear,"  said  Miss  Winter,  laughing,  and  rising  from  the 
window  ;  "  let  us  go  and  dress." 

"  Shall  I  wear  my  best  gown  ?  —  What  shall  I  put  in 
my  hair  ?  " 

At  this  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  maid-servant 
introduced  Mr.  Brown. 

It  was  the  St.  Ambrose  drag  which  had  passed  along 
shortly  before,  bearing  the  eleven  home  from  a  triumphant 
match.  As  they  came  over  Magdalen  bridge,  Drysdale, 
who  had  returned  to  Oxford  as  a  private  gentleman  after 
his  late  catastrophe,  which  he  had  managed  to  keep  a 
secret  from  his  guardian,  and  was  occupying  his  usual 
place  on  the  box,  called  out,  — 

"  Now,  boys,  keep  your  eyes  open,  there  must  be  plenty 
of  lionesses  about ; "  and  thus  warned,  the  whole  load,  in- 
cluding the  cornopean  player,  were  on  the  look-out  for 
lady  visitors,  profanely  called  lionesses,  all  the  way  up  the 
street.  They  had  been  gratified  by  the  sight  of  several 
walking  in  the  High  Street  or  looking  out  of  the  windows, 
before  they  caught  sight  of  Miss  Winter  and  her  cousin. 
The  appearance  of  these  young  ladies  created  a  sensation. 

"  I  say,  look  !  up  there  in  the  first  floor." 

"  By  George,  they're  something  like." 

"  The  sitter  for  choice." 

"  No,  no,  the  standing-up  one ;  she  looks  so  saucy." 

"  Hollo,  Brown  !  do  you  know  them  ?  " 

"  One  of  them  is  my  cousin,"  said  Tom,  who  had  just 
been  guilty  of  the  salutation  which,  as  we  saw,  excited  the 
indignation  of  the  younger  lady. 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  25 

"  What  luck  !  —  You'll  ask  me  to  meet  them  —  when 
shall  it  be  ?     To-morrow  at  breakfast,  I  ATote." 

"  I  say,  you'll  introduce  me  before  the  ball  on  Monday  ? 
promise  now,"  said  another. 

"  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  see  any  thing  of  them,"  said 
Tom  ;  "  I  shall  just  leave  a  pasteboard,  but  I'm  not  in  the 
humor  to  be  dancing  about  lionizing." 

A  storm  of  indignation  arose  at  this  speech ;  the  notion 
that  any  of  the  fraternity  who  had  any  hold  on  lionesses, 
particularly  if  they  were  pretty,  should  not  use  it  to  the 
utmost  for  the  benefit  of  the  rest,  and  the  glory  and  honor 
of  the  college,  was  revolting  to  the  undergraduate  mind. 
So  the  whole  body  escorted  Tom  to  the  door  of  the  lodg- 
ings, impressing  upon  him  the  necessity  of  engaging  both 
his  lionesses  for  every  hour  of  every  day  in  St.  Ambrose's, 
and  left  him  not  till  they  had  heard  him  ask  for  the  young 
ladies,  and  seen  him  fairly  on  his  way  up  stairs.  They 
need  not  have  taken  so  much  trouble,  for  in  his  secret  soul 
he  was  no  little  pleased  at  the  appearance  of  creditable 
ladies,  more  or  less  belonging  to  him,  and  would  have 
found  his  way  to  see  them  quickly  and  surely  enough 
without  any  urging.  Moreover,  he  had  been  really  fond 
of  his  cousin,  years  before,  when  they  had  been  boy  and 
girl  together. 

So  they  greeted  one  another  very  cordially,  and  looked 
one  another  over  as  they  shook  hands,  to  see  what  changes 
time  had  made.  He  makes  his  changes  rapidly  enough  at 
that  age,  and  mostly  for  the  better,  as  the  two  cousins 
thought.  It  was  nearly  three  years  since  they  had  met, 
and  then  he  was  a  fifth-form  boy  and  she  a  girl  in  the 
schoolroom.  They  were  both  conscious  of  a  strange 
pleasure  in  meeting  again,  mixed  with  a  feeling  of  shy- 
ness, and  wonder,  whether  they  should  be  able  to  step 
back  into  their  old  relations. 
3 


26  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

Mary  looked  on  demurely,  really  watching  them,  hut 
ostensibly  engaged  on  the  rosebud  trimming.  Presently 
Miss  Winter  turned  to  her  and  said,  "  I  don't  think  you 
two  ever  met  before ;  I  must  introduce  you,  I  suppose ;  — 
my  cousin  Tom,  my  cousin  Mary." 

"  Then  we  must  be  cousins  too,"  said  Tom,  holding  out 
his  hand. 

"  No,  Katie  says  not,"  she  answered. 

"  I  don't  mean  to  believe  her,  then,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but 
what  are  you  going  to  do  now,  to-night  ?  Why  didn't  you 
write  and  tell  me  you  were  coming  ?  " 

"  We  have  been  so  shut  up  lately,  owing  to  papa's  bad 
health,  that  I  really  had  almost  forgotten  you  were  at 
Oxford." 

"  By  the  by,"  said  Tom,  "  where  is  uncle  ?  " 

"  Oh !  he  is  dining  at  the  Vice  Chancellor's,  who  is  an 
old  College  friend  of  his.  We  have  only  been  up  here 
three  or  four  hours,  and  it  has  done  him  so  much  good 
I  am  so  glad  we  spirited  him  up  to  coming." 

"  You  haven't  made  any  engagements  yet,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  Indeed  we  have ;  I  can't  tell  how  many.  We  came 
in  time  for  luncheon  in  Balliol.  Mary  and  I  made  it  our 
dinner,  and  we  have  been  seeing  sights  ever  since,  and 
have  been  asked  to  go  to,  I  don't  know  how  many  lunch- 
eons, and  breakfasts." 

"What,  with  a  lot  of  dons,  I  suppose?"  said  Tom, 
spitefully  ;  "  you  won't  enjoy  Oxford  then  ;  they'll  bore  you 
to  death." 

"  There  now,  Katie  ;  that  is  just  what  I  was  afraid 
of,"  joined  in  Mary ;  "  you  remember  we  didn't  hear  a 
word  about  balls  all  the  afternoon." 

"  You  haven't  got  your  tickets  for  the  balls,  then  ? " 
said  Tom,  brightening  up. 

"  No ;  how  shall  we  get,  them  ?  " 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  27 

"  Oh  !  I  can  manage  that,  I've  no  doubt." 

"  Stop ;  how  are  we  to  go  ?  Papa  will  never  take  us.' 

"  You  needn't  think  about  that ;  anybody  will  chap- 
eron you.  Nobody  cares  about  that  sort  of  thing  at  com- 
memoration." 

"  Indeed  I  think  you  had  better  wait  till  I  have  talked 
to  papa." 

"  Then  all  the  tickets  will  be  gone,"  said  Tom.  "  You 
must  go.  Why  shouldn't  I  chaperon  you  ?  I  know  sev- 
eral men  whose  sisters  are  going  with  them." 

"  No,  that  will  scarcely  do,  I'm  afraid.  But  really, 
Mary,  we  must  go  and  dress." 

"  Where  are  you  going  then  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  To  an  evening  party  at  the  Vice-Chancellor's  ;  we  are 
asked  for  nine  o'clock,  and  the  hall-hour  has  struck." 

"  Hang  the  dons  ;  how  unlucky  that  I  didn't  know  be- 
fore !     Have  you  any  flowers,  by  the  way." 

"  Not  one." 

"  Then  I  will  try  to  get  you  some  by  the  time  you  are 
ready.     May  I  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  pray  do,"  said  Mary.  "  That's  capital,  Katie, 
isn't  it?  Now  I  shall  have  something  to  put  in  my  hair; 
I  couldn't  think  what  I  was  to  wear." 

Tom  took  a  look  at  the  hair  in  cmestion,  and  then  left 
them  and  hastened  out  to  scour  the  town  for  flowers,  as  if 
his  life  depended  on  success.  In  the  morning,  he  would 
probably  have  resented  as  insulting,  or  laughed  at  as 
wildly  improbable,  the  suggestion  that  he  would  be  so  em- 
ployed before  night. 

A  double  chair  was  thrown  up  opposite  the  door  when 
he  came  back,  and  the  ladies  were  coming  down  into  the 
sitting  room. 

"  Oh,  look,  Katie !  What  lovely  flowers  !  How  very 
kind  of  you." 


28  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Tom  surrendered  as  much  of  his  burden  as  that  young 
lady's  little  round  white  hands  could  clasp,  to  her,  and 
deposited  the  rest  on  the  table. 

"Now,  Katie,  which  shall  I  wear  —  this  beautiful  white 
rose  all  by  itself,  or  a  wreath  of  these  pansies  ?  Here,  I 
have  a  wire :  I  can  make  them  up  in  a  minute."  She 
turned  to  the  glass,  and  held  the  rich  cream-white  against 
her  hair,  and  then  turning  on  Tom,  added,  "  What  do  you 
think  ?  " 

"  I  thought  fern  would  suit  your  hair  better  than  any 
thing  else,"  said  Tom ;  "  and  so  I  got  these  leaves,"  and 
he  picked  out  two  slender  fern  leaves. 

"  How  very  kind  of  you  !  Let  me  see,  how  do  you 
mean  ?  Ah !  I  see  ;  it  will  be  charming ;  "  and  so  saying, 
she  held  the  leaves  each  in  one  hand  to  the  sides  of  her 
head,  and  then  floated  about  the  room  for  needle  and  thread, 
and  with  a  few  nimble  stitches  fastened  together  the  sim- 
ple green  crown,  which  her  cousin  put  on  for  her,  making 
the  points  meet  above  her  forehead.  Mary  was  wild  with 
delight  at  the  effect,  and  full  of  thanks  to  Tom  as  he 
helped  them  hastily  to  tie  up  bouquets,  and  then,  amidst 
much  laughing,  they  squeezed  into  the  wheel  chair  to- 
gether, (as  the  fashions  of  that  day  allowed  two  young 
ladies  to  do),  and  went  off  to  their  party,  leaving  a  last 
injunction  on  him  to  go  up  and  put  the  rest  of  the  flowers 
in  water,  and  to  call  directly  after  breakfast  the  next  day. 
He  obeyed  his  orders,  and  pensively  arranged  the  rest  of 
the  flowers  in  the  china  ornaments  on  the  mantelpiece, 
and  in  a  soup  plate,  which  he  got  and  placed  in  the  mid- 
dle of  the  table,  and  then  spent  some  minutes  examining 
a  pair  of  gloves  and  other  small  articles  of  women's  gear 
which  lay  scattered  about  the  room.  The  gloves  particu- 
larly attracted  him,  and  he  flattened  them  out  and  laid 
them  on  his  own  large  brown  hand,  and  smiled  at   the 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  29 

contrast,  and  took  other  unjustifiable  liberties  with  them  ; 
after  which  he  returned  to  college  and  endured  much 
banter  as  to  the  time  his  call  had  lasted,  and  promised  to 
engage  his  cousins,  as  he  called  them,  to  grace  some  fes- 
tivities in  St.  Ambrose's  at  their  first  spare  moment. 

The  next  day,  being  Show  Sunday,  was  spent  by  the 
young  ladies  in  a  ferment  of  spiritual  and  other  dissipa- 
tion. They  attended  morning  service  at  eight  at  the 
cathedral ;  breakfasted  at  a  Morton  fellow's,  from  whence 
they  adjourned  to  University  sermon.  Here,  Mary,  after 
two  or  three  utterly  ineffectual  attempts  to  understand 
what  the  preacher  was  meaning,  soon  relapsed  into  an  ex- 
amination of  the  bonnets  present,  and  the  doctors  and 
proctors  on  the  floor,  and  the  undergraduates  in  the  gal- 
lery. On  the  whole,  she  was,  perhaps,  better  employed 
than  her  cousin,  who  knew  enough  of  religious  party 
strife  to  follow  the  preacher,  and  was  made  very  uncom- 
fortable by  his  discourse,  which  consisted  of  an  attack 
upon  the  recent  publications  of  the  most  eminent  and  best 
men  in  the  University.  Poor  Miss  "Winter  came  away 
with  a  vague  impression  of  the  wickedness  of  all  persons 
who  dare  to  travel  out  of  beaten  tracks,  and  that  the  most 
unsafe  state  of  mind  in  the  world  is  that  which  inquires 
and  aspires,  and  cannot  be  satisfied  with  the  regulation 
draught  of  spiritual  doctors  in  high  places.  Being  nat- 
urally of  a  reverent  turn  of  mind,  she  tried  to  think  that 
the  discourse  had  done  her  good.  At  the  same  time  she 
was  somewhat  troubled  by  the  thought  that  somehow  the 
best  men  in  all  times  of  which  she  had  read  seemed  to  her 
to  be  just  those  whom  the  preacher  was  in  fact  denounc- 
ing, although  in  words  he  had  praised  them  as  the  great 
lights  of  the  Church.  The  words  which  she  had  heard  in 
one  of  the  lessons  kept  running  in  her  head,  "  Truly  ye 
bear  witness  that  ye  do  allow  the  deeds  of  your  fathers, 
3* 


30  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

for  they  indeed  killed  them,  but  ye  build  their  sepul- 
chres." But  she  had  little  leisure  to  think  on  the  subject, 
and,  as  her  father  praised  the  sermon  as  a  noble  protest 
against  the  fearful  tendencies  of  the  day  to  Popery  and 
Pantheism,  smothered  the  questionings  of  her  own  heart 
as  well  as  she  could,  and  went  off  to  luncheon  in  a  com- 
mon room ;  after  which  her  father  retired  to  their  lodg- 
ings, and  she  and  her  cousin  were  escorted  to  afternoon 
service  at  Magdalen,  in  achieving  which  last  feat  they  had 
to  encounter  a  crush  only  to  be  equalled  by  that  at  the  pit 
entrance  between  the  opera  on  a  Jenny  Lind  night.  But 
what  will  not  a  delicately  nutured  British  lady  go  through 
when  her  mind  is  bent  either  on  pleasure  or  duty  ? 

Poor  Tom's  feelings  throughout  the  day  may  be  more 
easily  conceived  than  described.  He  had  called  according 
to  order,  and  waited  at  their  lodgings  after  breakfast.  Of 
course  they  did  not  arrive.  He  had  caught  a  distant 
glimpse  of  them  in  St.  Mary's,  but  had  not  been  able  to 
approach.  He  had  called  again  in  the  afternoon  unsuc- 
cessfully, so  far  as  seeing  them  was  concerned  ;  but  he  had 
found  his  uncle  at  home,  lying  upon  the  sofa.  At  first  he 
was  much  dismayed  by  this  rencontre,  but  recovering  his 
presence  of  mind  he  proceeded,  I  regret  to  say,  to  take  the 
length  of  the  old  gentleman's  foot,  by  entering  into  a 
minute  and  sympathizing  inquiry  into  the  state  of  his 
health.  Tom  had  no  faith  whatever  in  his  uncle's  ill 
health,  and  believed,  —  as  many  persons  of  robust  consti- 
tution are  too  apt  to  do  when  brought  face  to  face  with 
nervous  patients,  —  that  he  might  shake  off  the  whole  of 
his  maladies  at  any  time  by  a  resolute  effort,  so  that  his 
sympathy  was  all  sham,  though,  perhaps,  one  may  pardon 
it,  considering  the  end  in  view,  which  was  that  of  persuad- 
ing the  old  gentleman  to  entrust  the  young  ladies  to  his 
nephew's  care  for  that  evening  in  the  long  walk ;  and  gen- 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  31 

orally  to  look  upon  his  nephew,  Thomas  Brown,  as  his 
natural  prop  and  supporter  in  the  university,  whose  one 
object  in  life  just  now  would  be  to  take  trouble  off  his 
hands,  and  who  was  of  that  rare  and  precocious  steadiness 
of  character  that  he  might  be  as  safely  trusted  as  a  Span- 
ish duenna.  To  a  very  considerable  extent  the  victim  fell 
into  the  toils.  He  had  many  old  friends  at  the  colleges, 
and  was  very  fond  of  good  dinners,  and  long  sittings  after- 
wards. This  very  evening  he  was  going  to  dine  at  St. 
John's,  and  had  been  much  troubled  at  the  idea  of  having 
to  leave  the  unrivalled  old  port  of  that  learned  house  to 
escort  his  daughter  and  niece  to  the  long  walk.  Still  he 
was  too  easy  and  good-natured  not  to  wish  that  they  might 
get  there,  and  did  not  like  the  notion  of  their  going  with 
perfect  strangers.  Here  was  a  compromise.  His  nephew 
was  young,  but  still  he  was  a  near  relation,  and  in  fact  it 
gave  the  poor  old  man  a  plausible  excuse  for  not  exerting 
himself  as  he  felt  he  ought  to  do,  which  was  all  he  ever 
required  for  shifting  his  responsibilities  and  duties  upon 
other  shoulders. 

So  Tom  waited  quietly  till  the  young  ladies  came  home, 
which  they  did  just  before  hall-time.  Mr.  Winter  was 
getting  impatient.  As  soon  as  they  arrived  he  started  for 
St.  John's,  after  advising  them  to  remain  at  home  for  the 
rest  of  the  evening,  as  they  looked  quite  tired  and  knocked 
up ;  but  if  they  were  resolved  to  go  to  the  long  walk,  his 
nephew  would  escort  them. 

"  How  can  Uncle  Robert  say  we  look  so  tired  ?  "  said 
Mary,  consulting  the  glass  on  the  subject ;  "  I  feel  quite 
fresh.  Of  course,  Katie,  you  mean  to  go  to  the  long 
walk?" 

"  I  hope  you  will  go,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  think  you  owe  mo 
borne  amends.     I  came  here  according  to  order  this  morn- 


32  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

ing,  and  you  were  not  in,  and  I  have  been  trying  to  catch 
you  ever  since." 

"  We  couldn't  help  it,"  said  Miss  Winter ;  "  indeed  we 
have  not  had  a  minute  to  ourselves  all  day.  I  was  very 
sorry  to  think  that  we  should  have  brought  you  here  for 
nothing  this  morning." 

"  But  about  the  long  walk,  Katie?  " 

"  Well,  don't  you  think  we  have  done  enough  for  to-day  ? 
I  should  like  to  have  tea  and  sit  quietly  at  home,  as  papa 
suggested." 

"  Do  you  feel  very  tired,  dear  ?  "  said  Mary,  seating 
herself  by  her  cousin  on  the  sofa,  and  taking  her  hand. 

"  No,  dear  ;  I  only  want  a  little  quiet  and  a  cup  of  tea." 

"  Then  let  us  stay  here  quietly  till  it  is  time  to  start. 
When  ought  we  to  get  to  the  long  walk  ?  " 

"  About  half-past  seven,"  said  Tom ;  "  you  shouldn't  be 
much  later  than  that." 

"  There  you  see,  Katie,  we  shall  have  two  hours'  per- 
fect rest.  You  shall  lie  upon  the  sofa  and  I  will  read  to 
you,  and  then  we  shall  go  on  all  fresh  again." 

Miss  Winter  smiled  and  said,  "Very  well."  She  saw 
that  her  cousin  was  bent  on  going,  and  she  could  deny  her 
nothing. 

"  May  I  send  you  any  thing  from  college  ?  "  said  Tom ; 
"  you  ought  to  have  something  more  than  tea,  I'm  sure." 

"  Oh !  no,  thank  you.  We  dined  in  the  middle  of  the 
day." 

"  Then  I  may  call  for  you  about  seven  o'clock,"  said 
Tom,  who  had  come  unwillingly  to  the  conclusion  that  he 
had  better  leave  them  for  the  present. 

"  Yes,  and  mind  you  come  in  good  time  ;  we  mean  to 
see  the  whole  sight,  remember.    We  are  country  cousins." 

"  You  must  let  me  call  you  cousin  then,  just  for  the 
look  of  the  thiner." 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  33 

"  Certainly,  just  for  the  look  of  the  thing,  we  will  be 
cousins  till  further  notice." 

"  "Well,  you  and  Tom  seem  to  get  on  together,  Mary," 
said  Miss  Winter,  as  they  heard  the  front  door  close. 
"  I'm  learning  a  lesson  from  you,  though  I  doubt  whether 
I  shall  ever  be  able  to  put  it  in  practice.  "What  a  blessing 
it  must  be  not  to  be  shy ! " 

"  Are  you  shy,  then  ?  "  said  Mary,  looking  at  her  cousin 
with  a  playful  loving  smile. 

"  Yes,  dreadfully.  It  is  positive  pain  to  me  to  walk 
into  a  room  where  there  are  people  I  do  not  know." 

"  But  I  feel  that  too.  I'm  sure  now  you  were  much  less 
embarrassed  than  I  last  night  at  the  Vice-Chancellor's.  I 
cpiite  envied  you,  you  seemed  so  much  at  your  ease." 

"  Did  I  ?  I  would  have  given  any  thing  to  be  back 
here  quietly.  But  it  is  not  the  same  thing  with  you.  You 
have  no  real  shyness,  or  you  would  never  have  got  on  so 
fast  with  my  cousin." 

"  Oh !  I  don't  feel  at  all  shy  with  him,"  said  Mary, 
laughing.  "  How  lucky  it  is  that  he  found  us  out  so  soon  ! 
I  like  him  so  much.  There  is  a  sort  of  way  about  him  as 
if  he  couldn't  help  himself.  I  am  sure  one  could  turn  him 
round  one's  finger.     Don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But  he  always  was  eoft- 
hearted,  poor  boy  !  But  he  isn't  a  boy  any  longer.  You 
must  take  care,  Mary.     Shall  we  ring  for  tea  ?  " 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE    LONG   WALK   IN    CHRISTCHURCH   MEADOWS. 

Do  well  unto  thyself  and  men  will  speak  good  of  thee, 
is  a  maxim  as  old  as  King  David's  time,  and  just  as  true 
now  as  it  was  then.  Hardy  had  found  it  so  since  the 
publication  of  the  class  list.  Within  a  few  days  of  that 
event,  it  was  known  that  his  was  a  very  good  first.  His 
college  tutor  had  made  his  own  inquiries,  and  repeated 
on  several  occasions  in  a  confidential  way  the  statement 
that,  "  with  the  exception  of  a  want  of  polish  in  his  Latin 
and  Greek  verses,  which  we  seldom  get,  except  in  the 
most  finished  public  school  men, —  Etonians  in  particular, 
—  there  has  been  no  better  examination  in  the  schools  for 
several  years."  The  worthy  tutor  went  on  to  take  glory 
to  the  college,  and  in  a  lower  degree  to  himself.  He  called 
attention,  in  more  than  one  common  room,  to  the  fact  that 
Hardy  had  never  had  any  private  tuition,  but  had  attained 
his  intellectual  development  solely  in  the  curriculum  pro- 
vided by  St.  Ambrose's  College  for  the  training  of  the 
youth  intrusted  to  her.  "  He  himself,  indeed,"  he  would 
add,  "  had  always  taken  much  interest  in  Hardy,  and  had, 
perhaps,  done  more  for  him  than  would  be  possible  in 
every  case,  but  only  with  direct  reference  to,  and  in  sup- 
plement of,  the  college  course." 

The  principal  had  taken  marked  and  somewhat  pom- 
pous notice  of  him,  and  had  graciously  intimated  his  wish, 
or,  perhaps  I  should  say,  his  will  (for  he  would  have 
been  much  astonished  to  be  told  that  a  wish  of  his  could 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  35 

count  for  less  than  a  royal  mandate  to  any  man  who  had 
been  one  of  his  servitors),  that  Hardy  should  stand  for  a 
fellowship,  which  had  lately  fallen  vacant.  A  few  weeks 
before,  this  excessive  affability  and  condescension  of  the 
great  man  would  have  wounded  Hardy ;  but,  somehow, 
the  sudden  rush  of  sunshine  and  prosperity,  though  it  had 
not  thrown  him  off  his  balance,  or  changed  his  estimate 
of  men  and  things,  had  pulled  a  sort  of  comfortable  sheath 
over  his  sensitiveness,  and  given  him  a  second  skin,  as  it 
were,  from  which  the  principal's  shafts  bounded  off  in- 
nocuous, instead  of  piercing  and  rankling.  At  first,  the 
idea  of  standing  for  a  fellowship  at  St.  Ambrose's  was  not 
pleasant  to  him.  He  felt  inclined  to  open  up  entirely  new 
ground  for  himself,  and  stand  at  some  other  college,  where 
he  had  neither  acquaintance  nor  association.  But  on  sec- 
ond thoughts,  he  resolved  to  stick  to  his  old  college, 
moved  thereto  partly  by  the  lamentations  of  Tom,  when 
he  heard  of  his  friend's  meditated  emigration,  but  chiefly 
by  the  unwillingness  to  quit  a  hard  post  for  an  easier  one, 
which  besets  natures  like  his  to  their  own  discomfort,  but, 
may  one  hope,  to  the  signal  benefit  of  the  world  at  large. 
Such  men  may  see  clearly  enough  all  the  advantages  of  a 
move  of  this  kind  —  may  quite  appreciate  the  ease  which 
it  would  bring  them  —  may  be  impatient  with  themselves 
for  not  making  it  at  once  —  but  when  it  comes  to  the  ac- 
tual leaving  the  old  post,  even  though  it  may  be  a  march 
out  with  all  the  honors  of  war,  drums  beating  and  colors 
flying,  as  it  would  have  been  in  Hardy's  case,  somehow 
or  another,  nine  times  out  of  ten,  they  throw  up  the 
chance  at  the  last  moment,  if  not  earlier ;  pick  up  their 
old  arms, —  growling  perhaps  at  the  price  they  are  paving 
to  keep  their  own  self-respect, —  and  .shoulder  back  into  the 
press  to  face  their  old  work,  muttering,  "  We  are  asses  : 


36  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

we  don't  know  what's  good  for  us  ;  but  we  must  see  this 
job  through  somehow,  come  what  may." 

So  Hardy  stayed  on  at  St.  Ambose,  waiting  for  the  fel- 
lowship examination,  and  certainly,  I  am  free  to  confess, 
not  a  little  enjoying  the  changes  in  his  position  and  affairs. 

He  had  given  up  his  low,  dark,  back  rooms  to  the  new 
servitor,  his  successor,  to  whom  he  had  presented  all  the 
rickety  furniture,  except  his  two  Windsor  chairs  and  Ox- 
ford reading  table.  The  intrinsic  value  of  the  gift  was 
not  great  certainly,  but  was  of  importance  to  the  poor 
raw  boy,  who  was  taking  his  place  ;  and  it  was  made  with 
the  delicacy  of  one  who  knew  the  situation.  Hardy's 
good  offices  did  not  stop  here.  Having  tried  the  bed  him- 
self for  upwards  of  three  long  years,  he  knew  all  the  hard 
places,  and  was  resolved  while  he  stayed  up  that  they 
should  never  chafe  another  occupant  as  they  had  him. 
So  he  set  himself  to  provide  stuffing,  and  took  the  lad 
about  with  him,  and  cast  a  skirt  of  his  newly  acquired  man- 
tle of  respectability  over  him,  and  put  him  in  the  way  of 
making  himself  as  comfortable  as  circumstances  would  al- 
low ;  never  disguising  from  him  all  the  while  that  the  bed 
was  not  to  be  a  bed  of  roses.  In  which  pursuit,  though 
not  yet  a  fellow,  perhaps  he  was  qualifying  himself  better 
for  a  fellowship  than  he  could  have  done  by  any  amount 
of  cramming  for  polish  in  his  versification.  Not  that  the 
electors  of  St.  Ambrose  would  be  likely  to  hear  of  or  ap- 
preciate this  kind  of  training.  Polished  versification 
would  no  doubt  have  told  more  in  that  quarter.  But  we 
who  are  behind  the  scenes  may  disagree  with  them,  and 
hold  that  he  who  is  thus  acting  out,  and  learning  to  un- 
derstand the  meaning  of  the  word  "fellowship,"  is  the 
man  for  our  votes. 

So  Hardy  had  left  his  rooms  and  gone  out  of  college,  into 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  37 

lodgings  near  at  hand.  The  sword,  epaulettes,  and  picture 
of  his  father's  old  ship  —  his  tutelary  divinities,  as  Tom 
called  them  —  occupied  their  accustomed  place  in  his  new 
rooms,  except  that  there  was  a  looking-glass  over  the 
mantel-piece  here,  by  the  side  of  which  the  sword  hung, 
instead  of  in  the  centre,  as  it  had  done  while  he  had  no 
such  luxury.  His  Windsor  chairs  occupied  each  side  of 
the  pleasant  window  of  his  sitting-room,  and  already  the 
taste  for  luxuries,  with  which  he  had  so  often  accused  him- 
self to  Tom,  began  to  peep  out  in  the  shape  of  one  or  two 
fine  engravings.  Altogether  Fortune  was  smiling  on 
Hardy,  and  he  was  making  the  most  of  her,  like  a  wise 
man,  having  brought  her  round  by  proving  that  he  could 
get  on  without  her,  and  was  not  going  out  of  his  way  to 
gain  her  smiles.  Several  men  came  at  once,  even  before 
he  had  taken  his  B.A.  degree,  to  read  with  him,  and 
others  applied  to  know  whether  he  would  take  a  reading 
party  in  the  long  vacation.  In  short,  all  things  went  well 
with  Hardy,  and  the  Oxford  world  recognized  the  fact, 
and  tradesmen  and  college  servants  became  obsequious, 
and  began  to  bow  before  him,  and  recognize  him  as  one 
of  their  lords  and  masters. 

It  was  to  Hardy's  lodgings  that  Tom  repaired  straight- 
way, when  he  left  his  cousin  by  blood,  and  cousin  by  cour- 
tesy, at  the  end  of  the  last  chapter.  For,  running  over 
in  his  mind  all  his  acquaintance,  he  at  once  fixed  upon 
Hardy  as  the  man  to  accompany  him  in  escorting  the 
ladies  to  the  Long  Walk.  Besides  being  his  own  most 
intimate  friend,  Hardy  was  the  man  whom  he  would  prefer 
to  all  others  to  introduce  to  ladies  now.  "  A  month  ago  it 
might  have  been  different,"  Tom  thought ;  "  he  was  such 
an  old  guy  in  his  dress.  But  he  has  smartened  up,  and 
wears  as  good  a  coat  as  I  do,  and  looks  well  enough  for 
anybody,  though  he  never  will  be  much  of  a  dresser. 
4 


38  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Then  he  will  be  in  a  bachelor's  gown  too,  which  will  look 
respectable." 

"  Here  you  are  ;  that's  all  right ;  I'm  so  glad  you're  in," 
he  said  as  he  entered  the  room.  "  Now  I  want  you  to 
come  to  the  Long  Walk  with  me  to-night." 

"  Very  well ;  will  you  call  for  me  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  mind  you  come  in  your  best  get-up,  old  fel- 
low :  we  shall  have  two  of  the  prettiest  girls  who  are  up, 
with  us." 

"  You  wont  want  me,  then ;  they  will  have  plenty  of 
escort." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  They  are  deserted  by  their  natural 
guardian,  my  old  uncle,  who  has  gone  out  to  dinner.  Oh, 
it's  all  right ;  they  are  my  cousins,  more  like  sisters,  and 
my  uncle  knows  we  are  going.  In  fact,  it  was  he  who 
settled  that  I  should  take  them." 

"  Yes,  but  you  see  I  don't  know  them." 

''That  doesn't  matter.  I  can't  take  them  both  myself — 
I  must  have  somebody  with  me,  and  I'm  so  glad  to  get  the 
chance  of  introducing  you  to  some  of  my  people.  You'll 
know  them  all,  I  hope,  before  long." 

"  Of  course  I  should  like  it  very  much,  if  you  are  sure 
it's  all  right." 

Tom  was  as  perfectly  sure  as  usual,  and  so  the  mat- 
ter was  arranged.  Hardy  was  very  much  pleased  and 
gratified  at  this  proof  of  his  friend's  confidence ;  and  I  am 
not  going  to  say  that  he  did  not  shave  again,  and  pay  most 
unwonted  attention  to  his  toilet  before  the  hour  fixed  for 
Tom's  return.  The  fame  of  Brown's  lionesses  had  spread 
through  St.  Ambrose's  already,  and  Hardy  had  heard  of 
them  as  well  as  other  men.  There  was  something  so 
unusual  to  him  in  being  selected  on  such  an  occasion, 
when  the  smartest  men  in  the  college  were  wishing  and 
plotting  for  that  which  came  to  him  unasked,  that  he  may 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  39 

be  pardoned  for  feeling  something  a  little  like  vanity, 
while  he  adjusted  the  coat  which  Tom  had  recently  thought 
of  with  such  complacency,  and  looked  in  the  glass  to  see 
that  his  gown  hung  gracefully.  The  effect  on  the  whole 
was  so  good,  that  Tom  was  above  measure  astonished 
when  he  came  back,  and  could  not  help  indulging  in  some 
gentle  chaff  as  they  walked  towards  the  High  Street  arm 
in  arm. 

The  young  ladies  were  quite  rested,  and  sitting  dressed 
and  ready  for  their  walk  when  Tom  and  Hardy  were  an- 
nounced, and  entered  the  room.  Miss  Winter  rose  up, 
surprised  and  a  little  embarrassed  at  the  introduction  of  a 
total  stranger  in  her  father's  absence.  But  she  put  a  good 
face  on  the  matter,  as  became  a  well-bred  young  woman, 
though  she  secretly  resolved  to  lecture  Tom  in  private, 
as  he  introduced  "  My  great  friend,  Mr.  Hardy,  of  our  col- 
lege. My  cousins."  Mary  dropped  a  pretty  little  demure 
courtesy,  lifting  her  eyes  for  one  moment  for  a  glance  at 
Tom,  which  said  as  plain  as  look  could  speak,  "  Well,  I 
must  say  you  are  making  the  most  of  your  new-found 
relationship."  He  was  a  little  put  out  for  a  moment,  but 
then  recovered  himself,  and  said,  apologetically, — 
•  "  Mr.  Hardy  is  a  bachelor,  Katie  —  I  mean  a  Bachelor 
of  Arts,  and  he  knows  all  the  people  by  sight  up  here. 
We  couldn't  have  gone  to  the  walk  without  some  one  to 
show  us  the  lions." 

"  Indeed,  I'm  afraid  you  give  me  too  much  credit,"  said 
Hardy.  "  I  know  most  of  our  dons  by  sight  certainly,  but 
scarcely  any  of  the  visitors." 

The  awkwardness  of  Tom's  attempted  explanation  set 
every  thing  wrong  again. 

Then  came  one  of  those  awkward  pauses,  which  will  oc- 
cur so  very  provokingly  at  the  most  inopportune  times. 
Miss  Winter  was  seized  with  one  of  tlie  uncontrollable  lits 


40  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

of  shyness,  her  bondage  to  which  she  had  so  lately  been 
grieving  over  to  Mary  ;  and  in  self-defence,  and  without 
meaning  in  the  least  to  do  so,  drew  herself  up,  and  looked 
as  proud  as  you  please.  Hardy,  whose  sensitiveness,  as 
we  have  seen,  was  as  keen  as  a  woman's,  felt  in  a  mo- 
ment the  awkwardness  of  the  situation,  and  became  as  shy 
as  Miss  "Winter  herself.  If  the  floor  would  have  suddenly 
opened,  and  let  him  through  into  the  dark  shop,  he  would 
have  been  thankful ;  but,  as  it  would  not,  there  he  stood, 
meditating  a  sudden  retreat  from  the  room,  and  a  tremen- 
dous onslaught  on  Tom,  as  soon  as  he  could  catch  him 
alone,  for  getting  him  into  such  a  scrape.  Tom  was  pro- 
voked with  them  all,  for  not  at  once  feeling  at  ease  with 
one  another,  and  stood  twirling  his  cap  by  the  tassel,  and 
looking  fiercely  at  it,  resolved  not  to  break  the  silence. 
He  had  been  at  all  the  trouble  of  bringing  about  this 
charming  situation,  and  now  nobody  seemed  to  like  it,  or 
to  know  what  to  say  or  do.  They  might  get  themselves 
out  of  it  as  they  could,  for  any  thing  he  cared  ;  he  was  not 
going  to  bother  himself  any  more. 

Mary  looked  in  the  glass,  to  see  that  her  bonnet  was 
quite  right,  and  then  from  one  to  another  of  her  com- 
panions, in  a  little  wonder  at  their  unaccountable  beha- 
vior, and  a  little  pique  that  two  young  men  should  be 
standing  there  like  unpleasant  images,  and  not  availing 
themselves  of  the  privilege  of  trying,  at  least,  to  make 
themselves  agreeable  to  her.  Luckily,  however,  for  the 
party,  the  humorous  side  of  the  tableau  struck  her  with  great 
force,  so  that  when  Tom  lifted  his  misanthropic  eyes  for  a 
moment,  and  caught  hers,  they  were  so  full  of  fun  that  he 
had  nothing  to  do  but  to  allow  himself,  not  without  a 
struggle,  to  break  first  into  a  smile  and  then  into  a  laugh. 
This  brought  all  eyes  to  bear  on  him,  and  the  ice,  being 
once  broken,  dissolved  as  quickly  as  it  had  gathered. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  41 

"  I  really  can't  see  what  there  is  to  laugh  at,  Tom," 
said  Miss  Winter,  smiling  herself,  nevertheless,  and  blush- 
ing a  little,  as  she  worked  or  pretended  to  work  at  button- 
ing one  of  her  gloves. 

"  Can't  you,  Katie  ?  Well  then,  isn't  it  very  ridiculous, 
and  enough  to  make  one  laugh,  that  we  four  should  be 
standing  here  in  a  sort  of  Quaker's  meeting,  when  we 
ought  to  be  half-way  to  the  Long  Walk  by  this  time  ?  " 

"  Oh,  do  let  us  start,"  said  Mary ;  "  I  know  we  shall  be 
missing  all  the  best  of  the  sight." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  said  Tom,  leading  the  way  down- 
stairs, and  Hardy  and  the  ladies  followed,  and  they  de- 
scended into  the  High  Street,  walking  all  abreast,  the  two 
ladies  together,  with  a  gentleman  on  either  flank.  This 
formation  answered  well  enough  in  High  Street,  the 
broad  pavement  of  that  celebrated  thoroughfare  being  fa- 
vorable to  an  advance  in  line.  But  when  they  had 
wheeled  into  Oriel  Lane  the  narrow  pavement  at  once 
threw  the  line  into  confusion,  and  after  one  or  two  fruit- 
less attempts  to  take  up  the  dressing  they  settled  down  in- 
to the  more  natural  formation  of  close  column  of  couples, 
the  leading  couple  consisting  of  Mary  and  Tom,  and  the 
remaining  couple  of  Miss  Winter  and  Hardy.  It  was  a 
lovely  midsummer  evening,  and  Oxford  was  looking  her 
best  under  the  genial,  cloudless  sky,  so  that,  what  with  the 
usual  congratulations  on  the  weather,  and  explanatory  re- 
marks on  tfie  buildings  as  they  passed  along,  Hardy  man- 
aged to  keep  up  a  conversation  with  his  companion  with- 
out much  difficulty.  Miss  Winter  was  pleased  with  his 
quiet,  deferential  manner,  and  soon  lost  her  feeling  of  shy- 
ness, and,  before  Hardy  had  come  to  the  end  of  such  re- 
marks as  it  occurred  to  him  to  make,  she  was  taking  her 
fair  share  in  the  talk.  In  describing  their  day's  doings 
she  spoke  with  enthusiasm  of  the  beauty  of  Magdalen 
4* 


42  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

Chapel,  and  betrayed  a  little  knowledge  of  traceries  and 
mouldings,  which  gave  an  opening  to  her  companion  to 
travel  out  of  the  weather  and  the  names  of  colleges. 
Church  architecture  was  just  one  of  the  subjects  which 
was  sure  at  that  time  to  take  more  or  less  hold  on  every 
man  at  Oxford  whose  mind  was  open  to  the  influences  of 
the  place.  Hardy  had  read  the  usual  text-books,  and 
kept  his  eyes  open  as  he  walked  about  the  town  and 
neighborhood.  To  Miss  Winter  he  seemed  so  learned  on 
the  subject,  that  she  began  to  doubt  his  tendencies,  and 
was  glad  to  be  re-assured  by  some  remarks  which  fell  from 
him  as  to  the  University  sermon  which  she  had  heard. 
She  was  glad  to  lind  that  her  cousin's  most  intimate  friend 
was  not  likely  to  lead  him  into  the  errors  of  Tractari- 
anism. 

Meantime,  the  leading  couple  were  getting  on  satisfac- 
torily in  their  way. 

"  Isn't  it  good  of  Uncle  Robert  ?  he  says  that  he  shall 
feel  quite  comfortable  as  long  as  you  and  Katie  are  with 
me.  In  fact,  I  feel  quite  responsible  already,  like  an  old 
dragon  in  a  story-book  watching  a  treasure." 

"  Yes,  but  what  does  Katie  say  to  being  made  a  treas- 
ure of  ?  She  has  to  think  a  good  deal  for  herself;  and  I 
am  afraid  you  are  not  quite  certain  of  being  our  sole 
knight  and  guardian  because  Uncle  Robert  wants  to  get 
rid  of  us.     Poor  old  uncle  !  " 

"  But  you  wouldn't  object,  then  ?  "  *" 

"  Oh,  dear,  no  —  at  least,  not  unless  you  take  to  looking 
as  cross  as  you  did  just  now  in  our  lodgings.  Of  course, 
I'm  all  for  dragons  who  are  mad  about  dancing,  and  never 
think  of  leaving  a  ball-room  till  the  band  packs  up  and 
the  old  man  shuffles  in  to  put  out  the  lights." 

"  Then  I  shall  be  a  model  dragon,"  said  Tom.  Twen- 
ty-four hours  earlier  he  had  declared  that  nothing  should 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  43 

induce  him  to  go  to  the  balls  ;  but  his  views  on  the  subject- 
had  been  greatly  modified,  and  he  had  been  worrying  all 
his  acquaintance,  not  unsuccessfully,  for  the  necessary 
tickets,  ever  since  his  talk  with  his  cousins  on  the  preced- 
ing evening. 

The  scene  became  more  and  more  gay  and  lively  as 
they  passed  out  of  Christchurch  towards  the  Long  "Walk. 
The  town  turned  out  to  take  its  share  in  the  show ;  the 
citizens  of  all  ranks,  the  poorer  ones  accompanied  by  chil- 
dren of  all  ages,  trooped  along  cheek  by  jowl  Avith  members 
of  the  University  of  all  degrees  and  their  visitors,  some- 
what indeed  to  the  disgust  of  certain  of  these  latter,  many 
of  whom  declared  that  the  whole  thing  was  spoilt  by  the 
miscellaneousness  of  the  crowd,  and  that  "  those  sort  of  peo- 
ple "  ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  come  to  the  Long  Walk 
on  Show  Sunday.  However,  "  those  sort  of  people " 
abounded,  nevertheless,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  very  much, 
in  sober  fashion,  the  solemn  march  up  and  down  beneath 
the  grand  avenue  of  elms,  in  the  midst  of  their  betters. 

The  University  was  there  in  strength,  from  the  vice- 
chancellor  downwards.  Somehow  or  another,  though  it 
might  seem  an  unreasonable  thing  at  first  sight  for  grave 
and  reverend  persons  to  do,  yet  most  of  the  gravest  of 
them  found  some  reason  for  taking  a  turn  in  the  Long 
"Walk.  As  for  the  undergraduates,  they  turned  out  al- 
most to  a  man,  and  none  of  them  more  certainly  than  the 
young  gentlemen,  elaborately  dressed,  who  had  sneered  at 
the  whole  ceremony  as  snobbish  an  hour  or  two  before. 

As  for  our  hero,  he  sailed  into  the  meadows  thoroughly 
satisfied  for  the  moment  with  himself  and  his  convoy.  lie 
had  every  reason  to  be  so,  for  though  there  were  many 
gayer  and  more  fashionably  dressed  ladies  present  than 
his  cousin,  and  cousin  by  courtesy,  there  were  none  there 
whose  laces,  figures,  and  dresses  curried  more  uumistaka- 


44  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

bly  the  marks  of  that  thorough,  quiet,  high  breeding,  that 
refinement  which  is  no  mere  surface  polish,  and  that  fear- 
less unconsciousness  which  looks  out  from  pure  hearts, 
which  are  still,  thank  God,  to  be  found  in  so  many  homes 
of  the  English  gentry. 

The  Long  Walk  was  filling  rapidly,  and  at  every  half- 
dozen  paces  Tom  was  greeted  by  some  of  his  friends  or 
acquaintance,  and  exchanged  a  word  or  two  with  them. 
But  he  allowed  them  one  after  another  to  pass  by  without 
effecting  any  introduction. 

"  You  seem  to  have  a  great  many  acquaintances,"  said 
his  companion,  upon  whom  none  of  these  salutations  were 
lost. 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  one  gets  to  know  a  great  many  men 
up  here." 

"  It  must  be  very  pleasant.  But  does  it  not  interfere 
a  great  deal  with  your  reading  ?  " 

"  No ;  because  one  meets  them  at  lectures,  and  in  Hall 
and  Chapel.  Besides,"  he  added  in  a  sudden  fit  of  honesty, 
"  it  is  my  first  year.  One  doesn't  read  much  in  one's  first 
year.  It  is  a  much  harder  thing  than  people  think  to  take 
to  reading,  except  just  before  an  examination." 

"  But  your  great  friend  who  is  walking  with  Katie  — 
what  did  you  say  his  name  is  ?  " 

"  Hardy." 

"  Well,  he  is  a  great  scholar,  didn't  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  has  just  taken  a  first  class.  He  is  the  best 
man  of  his  year." 

"  How  proud  you  must  be  of  him  !  I  suppose  now  he 
is  a  great  reader  ?  " 

"  Yes,  he  is  great  at  every  thing.  He  is  nearly  the  best 
oar  in  our  boat.  By  the  way,  you  will  come  to  the  pro- 
cession of  boats  to-morrow  night  ?  We  are  the  head  boat 
on  the  river." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  45 

"  Oh,  I  hope  so.  Is  it  a  pretty  sight?  Let  us  ask  Katie 
about  it." 

"  It  is  the  finest  sight  in  the  world,"  said  Tom,  who  had 
never  seen  it ;  "  twenty-four  eight  oars,  with  their  flags 
flying,  and  all  the  crews  in  uniform.  You  see  the  barges 
over  there,  moored  along  the  side  of  the  river.  You  will 
sit  on  one  of  them  as  we  pass." 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do,"  said  Mary,  looking  across  the 
meadow  in  the  direction  in  which  he  pointed  ;  "  you  mean 
those  great  gilded  things.     But  I  don't  see  the  river." 

"  Shall  we  walk  round  there  ?  It  wont  take  us  ten 
minutes." 

"  But  we  must  not  leave  the  walk  and  all  the  people. 
It  is  so  amusing  here." 

"  Then  you  will  wear  our  colors  at  the  procession  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  Katie  doesn't  mind.  At  least  if  they  are 
pretty.     "What  are  your  colors  ?  " 

"  Blue  and  white.  I  will  get  you  some  ribbons  to-mor- 
A>w  morning." 

"  Very  well,  and  I  will  make  them  up  into  rosettes." 

"  Why,  do  you  know  them  ?  "  asked  Tom,  as  she  bowed 
to  two  gentlemen  in  masters'  caps  and  gowns,  whom  they 
met  in  the  crowd. 

"  Yes ;  at  least  we  met  them  last  night." 

"  But  do  you  know  who  they  are  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  were  introduced  to  us,  and  I  talked  a 
great  deal  to  them.  And  Katie  scolded  me  for  it  when 
we  got  home.  No ;  I  wont  say  scolded  me,  but  looked 
very  grave  over  it." 

"  They  are  two  of  the  leaders  of  the  Tractarians." 

"  Yes.  That  was  the  fun  of  it.  Katie  was  so  pleased 
and  interested  with  them  at  first ;  much  more  than  I  was. 
But  when  she  found  out  who  they  were,  she  fairly  ran 


46  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

away,  and  I  stayed  and  talked  on.  I  don't  think  they  said 
any  thing  very  dangerous.  Perhaps  one  of  them  wrote 
No.  90.     Do  you  know  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say.  But  I  don't  know  much  about  it.  How- 
ever, they  must  have  a  bad  time  of  it,  I  should  think,  up 
here  with  the  old  dons." 

"  But  don't  you  think  one  likes  people  who  are  perse- 
cuted ?  I  declare  I  would  listen  to  them  for  an  hour, 
though  I  didn't  understand  a  word,  just  to  show  them  that  I 
wasn't  afraid  of  them,  and  sympathized  with  them.  How 
can  people  be  so  ill-natured  ?  I'm  sure  they  only  write 
what  they  believe,  and  think  will  do  good." 

"That's  just  what  most  of  us  feel,"  said  Tom;  "we 
hate  to  see  them  put  down  because  they  don't  agree  with 
the  swells  up  here.  You'll  see  how  they  will  be  cheered 
in  the  theatre." 

"  Then  they  are  not  unpopular  and  persecuted  after 
all?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  by  the  dons.  And  that's  why  we  all  like 
them.  From  fellow-feeling  you  see,  because  the  dons 
bully  them  and  us  equally." 

"  But  I  thought  they  were  dons  too  ?  " 

"  Well,  so  they  are,  but  not  regular  dons,  you  know, 
like  the  proctors,  and  deans,  and  that  sort." 

His  companion  did  not  understand  this  delicate  distinc- 
tion, but  was  too  much  interested  in  watching  the  crowd 
to  inquire  further. 

Presently  they  met  two  of  the  heads  of  houses  walking 
with  several  strangers.  Every  one  was  noticing  them  as 
they  passed,  and  of  course  Tom  was  questioned  as  to 
who  they  were.  Not  being  prepared  with  an  answer  he 
appealed  to  Hardy,  who  was  just  behind  them  talking  to 
Miss  Winter.  They  were  some  of  the  celebrities  on  whom 
honorary  degrees  were  to  be  conferred,  Hardy  said  ;  a  fa- 


TOM   BROWN   AX    OXFORD.  47 

mous  American  author,  a  foreign  ambassador,  a  "well- 
known  Indian  soldier,  and  others.  Then  came  some  more 
M.A.'s,  one  of  whom  this  time  bowed  to  Miss  Winter. 

"  Who  was  that,  Katie  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  gentlemen  we  met  last  night.  I  did  not 
catch  his  name,  but  he  was  very  agreeable." 

"  Oh,  I  remember.  You  were  talking  to  him  for  a  long 
time  after  you  ran  away  from  me.  I  was  very  curious 
to  know  what  you  were  saying,  you  seemed  so  interested." 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  have  made  the  most  of  your  time 
last  night,"  said  Tom  ;  "  I  should  have  thought,  Katie,  you 
would  hardly  have  approved  of  him  either." 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Why,  the  most  dangerous  man  in  Oxford.  What  do 
they  call  him  —  a  Germanizer  and  a  rationalist ;  isn't  it, 
Ilardv  ? " 

"  Yes,  I  believe  so,"  said  Hardy. 

"  Oh,  think  of  that !  There,  Katie ;  you  had  much 
better  have  stayed  by  me  after  all.  A  Germanizer,  didn't 
you  say  ?  What  a  hard  word.  It  must  be  much  worse 
than  Tractarian.     Isn't  it  now  ?  " 

"  Mary,  dear,  pray  take  care  ;  everybody  will  hear  you," 
said  Miss  Winter. 

"  I  wish  I  thought  that  everybody  would  listen  to  me," 
replied  Miss  Mary.  "  But  I  really  will  be  very  quiet, 
Katie,  —  only  I  must  know  which  is  the  worst,  my  Trac- 
tarians  or  your  Germanizer  ?  " 

"  Oh,  the  Germanizer  of  course,"  said  Tom. 

"  But  why  ?  "  said  Hardy,  who  could  do  no  less  than 
break  a  lance  for  his  companion.  Moreover  he  happened 
to  have  strong  convictions  on  these  subjects. 

"  Why  ?  Because  one  knows  the  worst  of  where  the 
Tractarians  are  going.     They  may  go  to  Home  and  there's 


48  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

an  end  of  it.  But  the  Germanizers  are  going  into  tlie 
abysses,  or  no  one  knows  where." 

"  There,  Katie,  you  hear,  I  hope,"  intei*rupted  Miss 
Mary,  coming  to  her  companion's  rescue  before  Hardy 
could  bring  his  artillery  to  bear,  "  but  what  a  terrible 
place  Oxford  must  be.  I  declare  it  seems  quite  full  of 
people  whom  it  is  unsafe  to  talk  with." 

"  I  wish  it  were,  if  they  were  all  like  Miss  Winter's 
friend,"  said  Hardy.  And  then  the  crowd  thickened,  and 
they  dropped  behind  again.  Tom  was  getting  to  think 
more  of  his  companion  and  less  of  himself  every  minute, 
when  he  was  suddenly  confronted  in  the  walk  by  Benja- 
min, the  Jew  money-lender,  smoking  a  cigar  and  dressed 
in  a  gaudy-figured  satin  waistcoat  and  water  fall  of  the 
same  material,  and  resplendent  with  jewellery.  He  had 
business  to  attend  to  in  Oxford  at  this  time  of  the  year. 
Nothing  escaped  the  eyes  of  Tom's  companion. 

"  Who  was  that  ?  "  she  said ;  "  what  a  dreadful-looking 
man  !     Surely,  he  bowed  as  if  he  knew  you  ?  " 

"  I  dare  say.  He  is  impudent  enough  for  any  thing," 
said  Tom. 

"  But  who  is  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  a  rascally  fellow  who  sells  bad  cigars  and  worse 
wine." 

Tom's  equanimity  was  much  shaken  by  the  apparition 
of  the  Jew.  The  remembrance  of  the  bill  scene  at  the 
public  house  in  the  Corn-market,  and  the  unsatisfactory 
prospect  in  that  matter,  with  Blake  plucked  and  Drysdale 
no  longer  a  member  of  the  University  and  utterly  care- 
less as  to  his  liabilities,  came  across  him,  and  made  him 
silent  and  absent. 

He  answered  at  hazard  to  his  companion's  remarks  for 
the  next  minute  or  two,  until,  after  some  particularly  in- 
appropriate reply,  she  turned  her  head  and  looked  at  him 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  49 

for  a  moment  with  steady,  wide-open  eyes,  which  brought 
him  to  himself,  or  rather  drove  him  into  himself,  in  no 
time. 

"  I  really  beg  your  pardon,"  he  said  ;  "  I  was  very  rude, 
I  fear.  It  is  so  strange  to  me  to  be  walking  here  with 
ladies.     What  were  you  saying  ?  " 

"Nothing  of  any  consequence  —  I  really  forget.  But 
is  it  a  very  strange  thing  for  you  to  walk  with  ladies 
here  ?  " 

"  Strange  !  I  should  think  it  was  !  I  have  never  seen  a 
lady  that  I  knew  up  here,  till  you  came." 

"  Indeed !  but  there  must  be  plenty  of  ladies  living  in 
Oxford  ?  " 

"  I  don't  believe  there  are.  At  least,  we  never  see 
them." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  be  on  your  best  behavior  when  we 
do  come.  I  shall  expect  you  now  to  listen  to  every  thing 
I  say,  and  to  answer  my  silliest  questions." 

"  Oh,  you  ought  not  to  be  so  hard  on  us." 

"  You  mean  that  you  are  not  used  to  answering  silly 
questions  ?  How  Avise  you  must  all  grow,  living  up  here 
together." 

"  Perhaps.  But  the  wisdom  doesn't  come  down  to  the 
first-year  men  ;  and  so  —  " 

"  Well,  why  do  you  stop  ?  " 

"  Because  I  was  going  to  say  something  you  might  not 
like." 

"  Then  I  insist  on  hearing  it.  Now,  I  shall  not  let  you 
off.  You  were  saying  that  wisdom  does  not  come  so  low 
as  first-year  men  ;  and  so  —  what?  " 

"And  so  —  and  so,  they  are  not  wise." 

"  Yes,  of  course  ;  but  that  was  not  what  you  were  going 
to  say  ;  and  so  —  " 

"  And  so  they  were  generally  agreeable,  for  wise  pco- 


50  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

pie  are  always  dull ;  and  so  —  ladies  ought  to  avoid  the 
dons." 

"  And  not  avoid  first-year  men  ?  " 

"  Exactly  so." 

"  Because  they  are  foolish,  and  therefore  fit  company 
for  ladies.     Now,  really  —  " 

"  No,  no  ;  because  they  are  foolish,  and  therefore,  they 
ought  to  be  made  wise  ;  and  ladies  are  wiser  than  dons." 

"  And,  therefore,  duller,  for  all  wise  people,  you  said, 
were  dull." 

"  Not  all  wise  people ;  only  people  who  are  wise  by 
cramming,  —  as  dons  ;  but  ladies  are  wise  by  inspiration." 

"  And  first-year  men,  are  they  foolish  by  inspiration 
and  agreeable  by  cramming,  or  agreeable  by  inspiration 
and  foolish  by  cramming  ?  " 

"  They  are  agreeable  by  inspiration  in  the  society  of 
ladies." 

"  Then  they  can  never  be  agreeable,  for  you  say  they 
never  see  ladies." 

"  Not  with  the  bodily  eye,  but  with  the  eye  of  fancy." 

"  Then  their  agreeableness  must  be  all  fancy." 

"But  it  is  better  to  be  agreeable  in  fancy  than  dull  in 
reality." 

"  That  depends  upon  whose  fancy  it  is.  To  be  agree- 
able in  your  own  fancy  is  compatible  with  being  as  dull 
in  reality  as  —  " 

"  How  you  play  with  words ;  I  see  you  wont  leave  me 
a  shred  either  of  fancy  or  agreeableness  to  stand  on." 

"  Then  I  shall  do  you  good  service.  I  shall  destroy 
your  illusions  ;  you  cannot  stand  on  illusions." 

"  But  remember  what  my  illusions  were, —  fancy  and 
agreeableness." 

*'  But  your  agreeableness   stood  on   fancy,  and  your 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  51 

fancy  on  nothing.  You  had  better  settle  down  at  once  on 
the  solid  baseness  of  dulness,  like  the  dons." 

"  Then  I  am  to  found  myself  on  fact,  and  try  to  be  dull  ? 
"What  a  conclusion  !  But  perhaps  dulness  is  no  more  a 
fact  than  fancy  ;  —  what  is  dulness  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  do  not  undertake  to  define ;  you  are  the  best 
judge." 

"  How  severe  you  are!  Now,  see  how  generous  I  am. 
Dulness  in  society  is  the  absence  of  ladies." 

"  Alas,  poor  Oxford !  "Who  is  that  in  the  velvet 
sleeves  ?     Why  do  you  touch  your  cap  ?  " 

"  That  is  the  proctor.  He  is  our  Cerberus  ;  he  has  to 
keep  all  undergraduates  in  good  order." 

"  What  a  task  !     He  ought  to  have  three  heads." 

"  He  has  only  one  head,  but  it  is  a  very  long  one.  And 
he  has  a  tail  like  any  Basha,  composed  of  pro-proctors, 
marshals,  and  bull-dogs,  and  I  don't  know  what  all.  But 
to  go  back  to  what  we  were  saying  —  " 

"  No  don't  let  us  go  back.  I'm  tired  of  it ;  besides,  you 
were  just  beginning  about  dulness.  How  can  you  expect 
me  to  listen  now  ?  " 

"  Oh,  but  do  listen,  just  for  two  minutes.  Will  you  be 
serious  ?  I  do  want  to  know  what  you  really  think  when 
you  hear  the  case." 

"  Well,  I  will  try,  for  two  minutes,  mind." 

Upon  gaining  which  permission  Tom  went  off  into  an 
interesting  discourse  on  the  unnaturalness  of  men's  lives 
at  Oxford,  which  it  is  by  no  means  necessary  to  inflict  on 
my  readers.  As  he  was  waxing  eloquent  and  sentimen- 
tal, he  chanced  to  look  from  his  companion's  face  for  a 
moment  in  search  of  a  simile,  when  his  eyes  alighted  on 
that  virtuous  member  of  society,  Dick,  the  factotum  of  the 
Choughs,  who  was  taking  his  turn  in  the  Long  Walk  with 
his  betters.     Dick's  face  was  twisted  into  an   uncomfbrta- 


52  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

ble  grin  ;  his  eyes  were  fixed  on  Tom  and  his  companion  ; 
and  he  made  a  sort  of  half  motion  towards  touching  his 
hat,  but  couldn't  quite  carry  it  through,  and  so  passed  by. 

"  Ah !  aint  he  a  going  of  it  again,"  he  muttered  to  him- 
self; "jest  like 'em  all." 

Tom  didn't  hear  the  words,  but  the  look  had  been  quite 
enough  for  him,  and  he  broke  off  short  in  his  speech,  and 
turned  his  head  away,  and,  after  two  or  three  flounder- 
ings  which  Mary  seemed  not  to  notice,  stopped  short,  and 
let  Miss  Winter  and  Hardy  join  them. 

"  It's  getting  dark,"  he  said,  as  they  came  up ;  "  the 
walk  is  thinning  ;  ought  we  not  to  be  going  ?  Remember, 
I  am  in  charge." 

"  Yes,  I  think  it  is  time." 

At  this  moment  the  great  Christ  Church  bell  —  Tom, 
by  name  —  began  to  toll. 

"  Surely,  that  can't  be  Tom  ?  "  Miss  "Winter  said,  who 
had  heard  the  one  hundred  and  one  strokes  on  former 
occasions. 

"Indeed  it  is,  though." 

"  But  how  very  light  it  is." 

"  It  is  almost  the  longest  day  in  the  year,  and  there 
hasn't  been  a  cloud  all  day." 

They  started  to  walk  home  all  together,  and  Tom  grad- 
ually recovered  himself,  but  left  the  laboring  oar  to  Hardy, 
who  did  his  work  very  well,  and  persuaded  the  ladies  to 
go  on  and  see  the  Ratclifie  by  moonlight, —  the  only  time 
to  see  it,  as  he  said,  because  of  the  shadows,  —  and  just  to 
look  in  at  the  old  quadrangle  of  St.  Ambrose. 

It  was  almost  ten  o'clock  when  they  stopped  at  the  lodg- 
ings in  High  Street.  While  they  were  waiting  for  the 
door  to  be  opened,  Hardy  said, — 

"  I  really  must  apologize,  Miss  Winter,  to  you,  for  my 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  53 

intrusion  to-night.  I  hope  your  father  will  allow  me  to 
call  on  him." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  pray  do ;  he  will  be  so  glad  to  see  any  friend 
of  my  cousin." 

"  And  if  I  can  be  of  any  use  to  him ;  or  to  you,  or  your 
sister  —  " 

"  My  sister !  Oh,  you  mean  Mary  ?  She  is  not  my 
sister." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon.  But  I  hope  you  will  let  me  know 
if  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  Indeed  we  will.  Now,  Mary,  papa  will  be  worrying 
about  us."  And  so  the  young  ladies  said  their  adieus,  and 
disappeared. 

"  Surely,  you  told  me  they  were  sisters,"  said  Hardy,  as 
the  two  walked  away  towards  college. 

"  No,  did  I  ?     I  don't  remember." 

"  But  they  are  your  cousins  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  at  least  Katie  is.     Don't  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  Of  course  ;  one  can't  help  liking  her.  But  she  says 
you  have  not  met  for  two  years  or  more." 

"  No  more  we  have." 

"  Then  I  suppose  you  have  seen  more  of  her  companion 
lately  ?  " 

"  Well,  if  you  must  know,  I  never  saw  her  before  yes- 
terday." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  that  you  took  me  in  there  to- 
night when  you  had  never  seen  one  of  the  young  ladies 
before,  and  the  other  not  for  two  years  !  Well,  upon  my 
word,  Brown  —  " 

"Now  don't  blow  me  up,  old  fellow,  to-night  —  please 
don't.  There,  I  give  in.  Don't  hit  a  fellow  when  he's 
down.  I'm  so  low."  Tom  spoke  in  such  a  deprecating 
tone,  that  Hardy's  wrath  passed  away. 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ?  "  he  said.     "  You  seemed  to 


54  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

be  full  of  talk.  I  was  envying  your  fluency,  I  know, 
often." 

"  Talk  ;  yes,  so  I  was.  But  didn't  you  see  Dick  in  tlie 
walk  ?     You  have  never  heard  any  thing  more  ?  " 

"  No ;  but  no  news  is  good  news." 

"  Heigho !  I'm  awfully  down.  I  want  to  talk  to  you. 
Let  me  come  up." 

"  Come  along  then."  And  so  they  disappeared  into 
Hardy's  lodgings. 

The  two  young  ladies,  meanwhile,  soothed  old  Mr.  Win- 
ter, who  had  eaten  and  drunk  more  than  was  good  for 
him,  and  was  naturally  put  out  thereby.  They  soon  man- 
aged to  persuade  him  to  retire,  and  then  followed  them- 
selves —  first  to  Mary's  room,  where  that  young  lady  burst 
out  at  once,  "  What  a  charming  place  it  is  !  Oh  !  didn't 
you  enjoy  your  evening,  Katie  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  but  I  felt  a  little  awkward  without  any  chape- 
rone.  You  seemed  to  get  on  very  well  with  my  cousin. 
You  scarcely  spoke  to  us  in  the  Long  Walk  till  just  be- 
fore we  came  away.     What  were  you  talking  about?" 

Mary  burst  into  a  gay  laugh.  "  All  sorts  of  nonsense," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  think  I  ever  talked  so  much  nonsense 
in  my  life.  I  hope  he  isn't  shocked.  I  don't  think  he  is. 
But  I  said  any  thing  that  came  into  my  head.  I  couldn't 
help  it.     You  don't  think  it  wrong?" 

"  Wrong,  dear  ?  No,  I'm  sure  you  could  say  nothing 
wrong." 

"  I'm  not  so  sure  of  that.  But,  Katie  dear,  I  know 
there  is  something  on  his  mind." 

"  Why  do  you  think  so  ?  " 

"  Oh!  because  he  stopped  short  twice,  and  became  quite 
absent,  and  seemed  not  to  hear  any  thing  I  said." 

"  How  odd  !  I  never  knew  him  do  so.  Did  you  see 
any  reason  for  it  ?  " 


TOJI   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  55 

"  No ;  unless  it  was  two  men  we  passed  in  the  crowd. 
One  was  a  vulgai"-looking  wretch,  who  Avas  smoking  — 
a  fat  black  thing,  with  such  a  thick  nose,  covered  with 
jewellery —  " 

"  Not  his  nose,  dear  ?  " 

"No,  but  his  dress  ;  and  the  other  was  a  homely,  dried- 
up  little  man,  like  one  of  your  Englebourn  troubles.  I'm 
sure  there  is  some  mystery  about  them,  and  I  shall  find  it 
out.     But  how  did  you  like  his  friend,  Katie  ?  " 

"  Very  much  indeed.  I  was  rather  uncomfortable  at 
walking  so  long  with  a  stranger.  But  he  was  very  pleas- 
ant, and  is  so  fond  of  Tom.  I  am  sure  he  is  a  very  good 
friend  for  him." 

"  He  looks  a  good  man  ;  but  how  ugly  !  " 

"  Do  you  think  so  ?  We  shall  have  a  hard  day  to-mor- 
row.    Good-night,  dear." 

"  Good-night,  Katie.  But  I  don't  feel  a  bit  sleepy." 
And  so  the  cousins  kissed  one  another,  and  Miss  Winter 
went  to  her  own  room. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

LECTURING   A   LIONESS. 

The  evening  of  Show  Sunday  may  serve  as  a  fair 
sample  of  what  this  eventful  Commemoration  was  to  our 
hero.  The  constant  intercourse  with  ladies,  —  with  such 
ladies  as  Miss  Winter  and  Mary,  —  young,  good-looking, 
well-spoken,  and  creditable  in  all  ways,  was  very  delight- 
ful, and  the  more  fascinating,  from  the  sudden  change 
which  their  presence  wrought  in  the  ordinary  mode  of  life 
of  the  place.  They  would  have  been  charming  in  any 
room,  but  were  quite  irresistible  in  his  den,  which  no 
female  presence,  except  that  of  his  blowsy  old  bedmaker, 
had  lightened  since  he  had  been  in  possession.  All  the 
associations  of  the  freshman's  rooms  were  raised  at  once. 
When  he  came  in  at  night  now,  he  could  look  sentimen- 
tally at  his  arm-chair  (christened  "  The  Captain,"  after 
Captain  Hardy),  on  which  Katie  had  sat  to  make  break- 
fast ;  or  at  the  brass  peg  on  the  door,  on  which  Mary  had 
hung  her  bonnet  and  shawl,  after  displacing  his  gown. 
His  very  teacups  and  saucers,  which  were  already  a  mis- 
cellaneous set  of  several  different  patterns,  had  made  a 
move  almost  into  his  affections  ;  at  least,  the  two  —  one 
brown,  one  blue  —  which  the  young  ladies  had  used.  A 
human  interest  belonged  to  them  now,  and  they  were  no 
longer  mere  crockery.  He  thought  of  buying  two  very 
pretty  China  ones,  the  most  expensive  he  could  find  in 
Oxford,  and  getting  them  to  use  these  for  the  first  time, 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  57 

but  rejected  the  idea.  The  fine  new  ones,  he  felt,  would 
never  be  the  same  to  him.  They  had  come  in  and  used 
his  own  rubbish  ;  that  was  the  great  charm.  If  he  had 
been  going  to  give  them  cups,  no  material  would  have  been 
beautiful  enough  ;  but  for  his  own  use  after  them,  the  com- 
moner the  better.  The  material  was  nothing,  the  associa- 
tion every  thing.  It  is  marvellous  the  amount  of  healthy 
sentiment  of  which  a  naturally  soft-hearted  undergraduate 
is  capable  by  the  end  of  the  summer  term.  But  sentiment 
is  not  all  one-sided.  The  delights  which  spring  from  sud- 
den intimacy  with  the  fairest  and  best  part  of  the  creation, 
are  as  far  above  those  of  the  ordinary  unmitigated,  under- 
graduate life,  as  the  British  citizen  of  18G0  is  above  the 
rudimentary  personage  in  prehistoric  times  from  whom  he 
has  been  gradually  improved,  up  to  his  present  state  of 
enlightenment  and  perfection.  But  each  state  has  also  its 
own  troubles  as  well  as  its  pleasures  ;  and,  though  the 
former  are  a  price  which  no  decent  fellow  would  boggle  at 
for  a  moment,  it  is  useless  to  pretend  that  paying  them  is 
pleasant. 

Now,  at  Commemoration,  as  elsewhere,  where  men  do 
congregate,  if  your  lady-visitors  are  not  pretty  or  agreea- 
ble enough  to  make  your  friends  and  acquaintance  eager 
to  know  them,  and  to  cater  for  their  enjoyment,  and  try  in 
all  ways  to  win  their  favor  and  cut  you  out,  you  have  the 
satisfaction  at  any  rate  of  keeping  them  to  yourself, 
though  you  lose  the  pleasures  which  arise  from  being 
sought  after,  and  made  mucli  of  for  their  sakes,  and  feel- 
ing raised  above  the  ruck  of  your  neighbors.  On  the 
other  hand,  if  they  are  all  this,  you  might  as  well  try  to 
keep  the  sunshine  and  air  to  yourself.  Universal  human 
nature  rises  up  against  you  ;  and,  besides,  they  will  not 
stand  it   themselves.      And,   indeed,   why  should   they  ? 


58  TOM  BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

Women,  to  be  very  attractive  to  all  sorts  of  different 
people,  must  have  great  readiness  of  sympathy.  Many 
have  it  naturally,  and  many  work  hard  in  acquiring  a  good 
imitation  of  it.  In  the  first  case  it  is  against  the  nature  of 
such  persons  to  be  monopolized  for  more  than  a  very  short 
time ;  in  the  second,  all  their  trouble  would  be  thrown 
away  if  they  allowed  themselves  to  be  monopolized. 
Once  in  their  lives,  indeed,  they  will  be,  and  ought  to  be, 
and  that  monopoly  lasts,  or  should  last,  forever ;  but  in- 
stead of  destroying  in  them  that  which  was  their  great 
charm,  it  only  deepens  and  widens  it,  and  the  sympathy 
which  was  before  fitful,  and,  perhaps,  wayward,  flows  on 
in  a  calm  and  healthy  stream,  blessing  and  cheering  all 
who  come  within  reach  of  its  exhilarating  and  life-giving 
waters. 

But  man  of  all  ages  is  a  selfish  animal,  and  unreasona- 
ble in  his  selfishness.  It  takes  every  one  of  us  in  turn 
many  a  shrewd  fall  in  our  wrestlings  with  the  world  to 
convince  us  that  we  are  not  to  have  every  thing  our  own 
way.  "We  are  conscious  in  our  inmost  souls  that  man  is 
the  rightful  lord  of  creation ;  and,  starting  from  this  eter- 
nal principle,  and  ignoring,  each  man-child  of  us  in  turn, 
the  qualifying  truth  that  it  is  to  man  in  general,  including 
woman,  and  not  to  Thomas  Brown  in  particular,  that  the 
earth  has  been  given,  we  set  about  asserting  our  kingships 
each  in  his  own  way,  and  proclaiming  ourselves  kings 
from  our  own  little  ant-hills  of  thrones.  And  then  come 
the  struggling*  and  the  downfallings,  and  some  of  us  learn 
our  lesson  and  some  learn  it  not.  But  what  lesson  ?  That 
we  have  been  dreaming  in  the  golden  hours  when  the 
vision  of  a  kingdom  rose  before  us  ?  That  there  is,  in 
short,  no  kingdom  at  all,  or  that,  if  there  be,  we  are  no 
heirs  of  it  ? 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  59 

No  —  I  take  it  that,  while  we  make  nothing  better  than 
that  out  of  our  lesson,  we  shall  have  to  go  on  spelling  at 
it  and  stumbling  over  it,  through  all  the  days  of  our  life, 
till  we  make  our  last  stumble,  and  take  our  final  header 
out  of  this  riddle  of  a  world,  which  we  once  dreamed  we 
were  to  rule  over,  exclaiming  "  vanitas  vanitatum  ! "  to  the 
end.  But  man's  spirit  will  never  be  satisfied  without  a 
kingdom,  and  was  never  intended  to  be  satisfied  so ;  and  a 
wiser  than  Solomon  tells  us  day  by  day  that  our  kingdom 
is  about  us  here,  and  that  we  may  rise  up  and  pass  in 
when  we  will  at  the  shining  gates  which  He  holds  open, 
for  that  it  is  His,  and  we  are  joint  heirs  of  it  with  Him. 

On  the  whole,  however,  making  allowances  for  all  draw- 
backs, those  Commemoration  days  were  the  pleasantest 
days  Tom  had  ever  known  at  Oxford.  He  was  with  his 
uncle  and  cousins  early  and  late,  devising  all  sorts  of 
pleasant  entertainments  and  excursions  for  them,  intro- 
ducing all  the  pleasantest  men  of  his  acquaintance,  and 
taxing  all  the  resources  of  the  college,  which  at  such  times 
were  available  for  undergraduates  as  well  as  their  betters, 
to  minister  to  their  comfort  and  enjoyment.  And  he  was 
well  repaid.  There  was  something  perfectly  new  to  the 
ladies,  and  very  piquant  in  the  life  and  habits  of  the  place. 
They  found  it  very  diverting  to  be  receiving  in  Tom's 
rooms,  presiding  over  his  breakfasts  and  luncheons,  alter- 
ing the  position  of  his  furniture,  and  making  the  place 
look  as  pretty  as  circumstances  would  allow.  Then  there 
was  pleasant  occupation  for  every  spare  hour,  and  the  fetes 
and  amusements  were  all  unlike  every  thing  but  them- 
selves. Of  course  the  ladies  at  once  became  enthusiastic 
St.  Ambrosians,  and  managed  in  spite  of  all  distractions 
to  find  time  lor  making  up  rosettes  and  bows  of  blue  and 
white,  in  which  to  appear  at  the  procession  of  the  boats, 
which  was  the  great  event  of  the  Monday.     Fortunately, 


GO  TO.U   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

Mr.  Winter  had  been  a  good  oar  in  his  day,  and  had  pulled 
in  one  of  the  first  four-oars  in  which  the  University  races' 
liad  commenced  some  thirty-five  years  before  ;  and  Tom, 
who  had  set  his  mind  on  managing  his  uncle,  worked  him 
up  almost  into  enthusiasm  and  forgetfulness  of  his  mala- 
dies, so  that  he  raised  no  objection  to  a  five  o'clock  dinner, 
find  an  adjournment  to  the  river  almost  immediately  after- 
wards. Jervis,  who  was  all-powerful  on  the  river,  at 
Tom's  instigation  got  an  arm-chair  for  him  in  the  best  part 
of  the  University  barge,  while  the  ladies,  after  walking 
along  the  bank  with  Tom  and  others  of  the  crew,  and 
being  instructed  in  the  colors  of  the  different  boats,  and 
the  meaning  of  the  ceremony,  took  their  places  in  the  front 
row  on  the  top  of  the  barge,  beneath  the  awning  and  the 
flags,  and  looked  down  with  hundreds  of  other  fair  strang- 
ers on  the  scene,  which  certainly  merited  all  that  Tom  had 
said  of  it  on  faith. 

The  barges  above  and  below  the  University  barge, 
which  occupied  the  post  of  honor,  were  also  covered  with 
ladies,  and  Christchurch  meadow  swarmed  with  gay  dresses 
and  caps  and  gowns.  On  the  opposite  side  the  bank  was 
lined  with  a  crowd  in  holiday  clothes,  and  the  punts  plied 
across  without  intermission  loaded  with  people,  till  the 
groups  stretched  away  down  the  towing-path  in  an  almost 
continuous  line  to  the  starting-place.  Then,  one  after 
another,  the  racing-boats,  all  painted  and  polished  up  for 
the  occasion,  with  the  college  flags  drooping  at  their  sterns, 
put  out  and  passed  down  to  their  stations,  and  the  bands 
played,  and  the  sun  shone  his  best.  And  then  after  a  short 
pause  of  expectation,  the  distant  bank  became  all  alive, 
and  the  groups  all  turned  one  way,  and  came  up  the  tow- 
ing-path again,  and  the  foremost  boat  with  the  blue  and 
white  flag  shot  through  the  Gut  and  came  up  the  reach, 
followed  by  another,  and  another,  and  another,  till  they 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  Gl 

were  tired  of  counting,  and  the  leading  boat  was  already 
close  to  them  before  the  last  had  come  within  sight.  And 
the  bands  played  up  altogether,  and  the  crowd  on  both 
sides  cheered  as  the  St.  Ambrose  boat  spurted  from  the 
Cherwell,  and  took  the  place  of  honor  at  the  winning-post, 
opposite  the  University  barge,  and  close  under  where  they 
were  sitting. 

"  Oh,  look,  Katie  dear  ;  here  they  are.  There's  Tom, 
and  Mr.  Hardy,  and  Mr.  Jervis ; "  and  Mary  waved  her 
handkerchief  and  clapped  her  hands,  and  was  in  an 
ecstasy  of  enthusiasm,  in  which  her  cousin  was  no  whit 
behind  her.  The  gallant  crew  of  St.  Ambrose  were  by 
no  means  unconscious  of,  and  fully  appreciated,  the  com- 
pliment. 

Then  the  boats  passed  up  one  by  one  ;  and,  as  each 
came  opposite  to  the  St.  Ambrose  boat,  the  crews  tossed 
their  oars  and  cheered,  and  the  St.  Ambrose  crew  tossed 
their  oars  and  cheered  in  return  ;  and  the  whole  ceremony 
went  off  in  triumph,  notwithstanding  the  casualty  which 
occurred  to  one  of  the  torpids.  The  torpids  being  filled 
with  the  refuse  of  the  rowing-men, —  generally  awkward 
or  very  young  oarsmen, —  find  some  difficulty  in  the  act 
of  tossing ;  no  very  safe  operation  for  an  unsteady  crew. 
Accordingly,  the  torpid  in  question,  having  sustained  her 
crew  gallantly  till  the  saluting  point,  and  allowed  them  to 
get  their  oars  fairly  into  the  air,  proceeded  gravely  to 
turn  over  on  her  side,  and  shoot  them  out  into  the  stream. 

A  thrill  rang  along  the  top  of  the  barges,  and  a  little 

scream  or  two  might  have  been  heard  even   through  the 

notes  of  Annie  Laurie,  which  were  filling  the  air  at  the 

moment ;  but  the  band  played  on,  and   the  crew  swam 

ashore,  and  two  of  the  punt-men  laid  hold  of  the  boat  and 

collected  the  oars,  and  nobody  seemed  to  think   any  thing 

of  it. 

G 


62  TOM  BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Katie  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Are  they  all  out,  dear  ?  "  she  said ;  "  can  you  see  ?  1 
can  only  count  eight." 

"  Oh,  I  was  too  frightened  to  look.  Let  me  see  ;  yes, 
there  are  nine  ;  there's  one  by  himself,  the  little  man  pull- 
ing the  weeds  off  his  trousers." 

And  so  they  regained  their  equanimity,  and  soon  after 
left  the  barge,  and  were  escorted  to  the  hall  of  St.  Am- 
brose by  the  crew,  who  gave  an  entertainment  there  to 
celebrate  the  occasion ;  which  Mr.  Winter  was  induced  to 
attend  and  pleased  to  approve,  and  which  lasted  till  it  was 
time  to  dress  for  the  ball,  for  which  a  proper  chaperone 
had  been  providentially  found.  And  so  they  passed  the 
days  and  nights  of  Commemoration. 

But  it  is  not  within  the  scope  of  this  work  to  chronicle 
all  their  doings  —  how,  notwithstanding  balls  at  night, 
they  were  up  to  chapel  in  the  morning,  and  attended 
flower-shows  at  Worcester  and  musical  promenades  in 
New  College,  and  managed  to  get  down  the  river  for  a 
picnic  at  Nuneham,  besides  seeing  every  thing  that  was 
worth  seeing  in  all  the  colleges.  How  it  was  done,  no 
man  can  tell ;  but  done  it  was,  and  they  seemed  only  the 
better  for  it  all.  They  were  waiting  at  the  gates  of  the 
theatre  amongst  the  first,  tickets  in  hand,  and  witnessed 
the  whole  scene,  wondering  no  little  at  the  strange  mix- 
ture of  solemnity  and  license,  the  rush  and  crowding  of 
the  undergraduates  into  their  gallery,  and  their  free  and 
easy  way  of  taking  the  whole  proceedings  under  their 
patronage,  watching  every  movement  in  the  amphitheatre 
and  on  the  floor,  and  shouting  approval  or  disapproval  of 
the  heads  of  their  republic  of  learning,  or  of  the  most 
illustrious  visitors,  or  cheering  with  equal  vigor  the  ladies, 
Her  Majesty's  ministers,  or  the  prize  poems.  It  is  a 
strange  scene  certainly,  and  has  probably  puzzled  many 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  G3 

persons  besides  young  ladies.  One  can  well  fancy  the  as- 
tonishment of  the  learned  foreigner,  for  instance,  when  he 
sees  the  head  of  the  University,  which  he  has  reverenced 
at  a  distance  from  his  youth  up,  rise  in  his  robes  in  sol- 
emn convocation  to  exercise  one  of  the  highest  of  univer- 
sity functions,  and  hears  his  sonorous  Latin  periods  inter- 
rupted by  "  three  cheers  for  the  ladies  in  pink  bonnets  !  " 
or,  when  some  man  is  introduced  for  an  honorary  degree, 
whose  name  may  be  known  throughout  the  civilized 
world,  and  the  vice-chancellor,  turning  to  his  compeers, 
inquires,  "  Placetne  vobis,  domini  doctores,  placetne  vobis, 
magistri,"  and  he  hears  the  voices  of  doctors  and  masters 
drowned  in  contradictory  shouts  from  the  young  Demos  in 
the  gallery,  "  Who  is  he  ?  "  "  Non  placet ! "  "  Placet !  " 
"  Why  does  he  carry  an  umbrella  ?  "  It  is  thoroughly 
English,  and  that  is  just  all  that  need,  or  indeed  can,  be 
said  for  it  all ;  but  not  one  in  a  hundred  of  us  would  alter 
it  if  we  could,  beyond  suppressing  some  of  the  personali- 
ties which  of  late  years  have  gone  somewhat  too  far. 

After  the  theatre  there  was  a  sumptuous  lunch  in  All 
Souls',  and  then  a  fete  in  St.  John's  Gai'dens.  Now,  at 
the  aforesaid  luncheon,  Tom's  feelings  had  been  severely 
tried ;  in  fact,  the  little  troubles  which,  as  has  been  before 
hinted,  are  incident  to  persons,  especially  young  men  in 
his  fortunate  predicament,  came  to  a  head.  lie  was  sep- 
arated from  his  cousins  a  little  way.  Being  a  guest,  and 
not  an  important  one  in  the  eyes  of  the  All  Souls'  fel- 
lows, he  had  to  find  his  level ;  which  was  very  much  be- 
low that  allotted  to  his  uncle  and  cousins.  In  short,  he 
felt  that  they  were  taking  him  about,  instead  of  he  them  — 
which  change  of  position  was  in  itself  trying  ;  and  Mary's 
conduct  fanned  his  slumbering  discontent  into  a  flame. 
There  she  was,  sitting  between  a  fellow  of  All  Souls', 
who  was  a  collector  of  pictures  and  an  authority  in    fine- 


64  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

art  matters,  and  the  Indian  officer  who  had  been  so  re- 
cently promoted  to  the  degree  of  D.C.L.  in  the  theatre. 
There  she  sat,  so  absorbed  in  their  conversation  that  she 
did  not  even  hear  a  remark  which  he  was  pleased  to  ad- 
dress to  her. 

Whereupon  he  began  to  brood  on  his  wrongs,  and  to 
take  umbrage  at  the  catholicity  of  her  enjoyment  and  en- 
thusiasm. So  long  as  he  had  been  the  medium  through 
which  she  was  brought  in  contact  with  others,  he  had  been 
well  enough  content  that  they  should  amuse  and  interest 
her ;  but  it  was  a  very  different  thing  now. 

So  he  watched  her  jealously,  and  raked  up  former  con- 
versations, and  came  to  the  conclusion  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  remonstrate  with  her.  He  had  remarked,  too,  that  she 
never  could  talk  with  him  now  without  breaking  away  af- 
ter a  short  time  into  badinage.  Her  badinage  certainly 
was  very  charming  and  pleasant,  and  kept  him  on  the 
stretch  ;  but  why  should  she  not  let  him  be  serious  and 
sentimental  when  he  pleased  ?  She  did  not  break  out  in 
this  manner  with  other  people.  So  he  really  felt  it  to  be 
his  duty  to  speak  to  her  on  the  subject — not  in  the  least 
for  his  own  sake,  but  for  hers. 

Accordingly,  when  the  party  broke  up,  and  they  started 
for  the  fete  at  St.  John's,  he  resolved  to  carry  out  his  in- 
tentions. At  first  he  could  not  get  an  opportunity  while 
they  were  walking  about  on  the  beautiful  lawn  of  the 
great  garden,  seeing  and  being  seen,  and  listening  to  mu- 
sic, and  looking  at  choice  flowers.  But  soon  a  chance  of- 
fered. She  stayed  behind  the  rest  without  noticing  it,  to 
examine  some  specially  beautiful  plant,  and  he  was  by  her 
side  in  a  moment,  and  proposed  to  show  her  the  smaller 
garden,  which  lies  beyond,  to  which  she  innocently  con- 
sented ;  and  they  were  soon  out  of  the  crowd,  and  in  com- 
parative solitude. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  G5 

She  remarked  that  he  was  somewhat  silent  and  grave, 
but  thought  nothing  of  it,  and  chatted  on  as  usual,  re- 
marking upon  the  pleasant  company  she  had  been  in  at 
luncheon. 

This  opened  the  way  for  Tom's  lecture. 

"  How  easily  you  seem  to  get  interested  with  new  peo- 
ple ! "  he  began. 

"  Do  I  ?  "  she  said.  "  Well,  don't  you  think  it  very 
natural  ?  " 

"  Wouldn't  it  be  a  blessing  if  people  would  always  say 
just  what  they  think  and  mean,  though  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  a  great  many  do,"  she  replied,  looking  at 
him  in  some  wonder,  and  not  quite  pleased  with  the  turn 
things  were  taking. 

"  Any  ladies,  do  you  think  ?  You  know  we  haven't 
many  opportunities  of  observing." 

"  Yes,  I  think  quite  as  many  ladies  as  men.     More,  in 
deed,  as  far  as  my  small  experience  goes." 

"  You  really  maintain  deliberately  that  you  have  met 
people  —  men  and  women  —  who  can  talk  to  you  or  any 
one  else  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  quite  honestly,  and  say 
nothing  at  all  which  they  don't  mean  —  nothing  for  the 
sake  of  flattery,  or  effect,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Oh  dear  me  !  yes,  often." 

"  Who,  for  example  ?  " 

"  Our  Cousin  Katie.  Why  are  you  so  suspicious  and 
misanthropical  ?  There  is  your  friend  Mr.  Hardy,  again  ; 
what  do  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  think  you  may  have  hit  on  an  exception.  But 
I  maintain  the  rule." 

"  You  look  as  if  I  ought  to  object.     But  I  sha'n't.     It 
is  no  business  of  mine  if  you  choose  to  believe  any  such 
disagreeable  thing  about  your  fellow-creatures." 
6* 


GG  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  don't  believe  any  thing  worse  about  them  than  1  do 
about  myself.     I  know  that  I  can't  do  it." 

"  Well,  I  am  very  sorry  for  you." 

"  But  I  don't  think  I  am  any  worse  than  my  neighbors." 

"  I  don't  suppose  you  do.     Who  are  your  neighbors  ?  " 

"  Shall  I  include  you  in  the  number  ?  " 

"  Oh,  by  all  means,  if  you  like." 

"  But  I  may  not  mean  that  you  are  like  the  rest.  The 
man  who  fell  among  thieves,  you  know,  had  one  good 
neighbor." 

"  Now,  Cousin  Tom,"  she  said,  looking  up  with  sparkling 
eyes,  "I  can't  return  the  compliment.  You  meant  to 
make  me  feel  that  I  was  like  the  rest  —  at  least,  like  what 
you  say  they  are.  You  know  you  did.  And  now  you 
are  just  turning  round,  and  trying  to  slip  out  of  it  by  say- 
ing what  you  don't  mean." 

"  Well,  Cousin  Mary,  perhaps  I  was.  At  any  rate,  I 
was  a  great  fool  for  my  pains.  I  might  have  known  by 
this  time  that  you  would  catch  me  out  fast  enough." 

"  Perhaps  you  might.  I  didn't  challenge  you  to  set  up 
your  palace  of  truth.  But,  if  we  are  to  live  in  it,  you  are 
not  to  say  all  the  disagreeable  things  and  hear  none  of 
them." 

"  I  hope  not,  if  they  must  be  disagreeable.  But  why 
should  they  be  ?  I  can't  see  why  you  and  I,  for  instance, 
should  not  say  exactly  what  we  are  thinking  to  one  another 
without  being  disagreeable." 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  made  a  happy  beginning  just 
now." 

"  But  I  am  sure  we  should  all  like  one  another  the  bet- 
ter for  speaking  the  truth." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  don't  admit  that  I  haven't  been  speaking 
the  truth." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  G7 

"You  wont  understand  me.  Have  I  said  that  you 
don't  speak  the  truth  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  said  just  now  that  I  don't  say  what  I  think 
and  mean.  Well,  perhaps  you  didn't  exactly  say  that,  but 
that  is  what  you  meant." 

"  You  are  very  angry,  Cousin  Mary.  Let  us  wait 
till  —  " 

"  No,  no.  It  was  you  who  began,  and  I  will  not  let  you 
off  now." 

"  Very  well,  then.  I  did  mean  something  of  the  sort. 
It  is  better  to  tell  you  than  to  keep  it  to  myself." 

"  Yes,  and  now  tell  me  your  reasons,"  said  Mary,  look- 
ing down  and  biting  her  lip.  Tom  was  ready  to  bite  his 
tongue  off,  but  there  was  nothing  now  but  to  go  through 
with  it. 

"  You  make  everybody  that  comes  near  you  think  that 
you  are  deeply  interested  in  them  and  their  doings.  Poor 
Grey  believes  that  you  are  as  mad  as  he  is  about  rituals 
and  rubrics.  And  the  boating-men  declare  that  you  would 
sooner  see  a  race  than  go  to  the  best  ball  in  the  world. 
And  you  listened  to  the  dean's  stale  old  stories  about  the 
schools,  and  went  into  raptures  in  the  Bodleian  about  pic- 
tures and  art  with  that  fellow  of  Allsouls'.  Even  our  old 
butler  and  the  cook  —  " 

Here  Mary,  despite  her  vexation,  after  a  severe  struggle 
to  control  it,  burst  into  a  laugh,  which  made  Tom  pause. 

"  Now  you  can't  say  that  I  am  not  really  fond  of  jellies," 
she  said. 

"  And  you  can't  say  that  I  have  said  any  thing  so  very 
disagreeable." 

"  Oli,  but  you  have,  though." 

"At  any  rate,  I  have  made  you  laugh." 

"  But  you  didn't  mean  to  do  it.     Now,  go  on." 


68  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  You  see  my  meaning, 
or  you  never  will." 

"  If  you  have  nothing  more  to  say  you  should  not  have 
said  so  much,"  said  Mary.  "  You  wouldn't  have  me  rude 
to  all  the  people  I  meet,  and  I  can't  help  it  if  the  cook 
thinks  I  am  a  glutton." 

"  But  you  could  help  letting  Grey  think  that  you  should 
like  to  go  and  see  his  night  schools." 

"  But  I  should  like  to  see  them  of  all  things." 

"  And  I  suppose  you  would  like  to  go  through  the 
manuscripts  in  the  Bodleian  with  the  dean.  I  heard  you 
talking  to  him  as  if  it  was  the  dearest  wish  of  your  heart, 
and  making  a  half  engagement  to  go  with  him  this  after- 
noon, when  you  know  that  you  are  tired  to  death  of  him, 
and  so  full  of  other  engagements  that  you  don't  know 
where  to  turn." 

Mary  began  to  bite  her  lips  again.  She  felt  half  in- 
clined to  cry,  and  half  inclined  to  get  up  and  box  his  ears. 
However,  she  did  neither,  but  looked  up  after  a  moment 
or  two,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  have  you  any  more  unkind  things  to  say  ?  " 

«  Unkind,  Mary  ?  " 

"  Yes,  they  are  unkind.  How  can  I  enjoy  any  thing 
now  when  I  shall  know  you  are  watching  me,  and  think- 
ing all  sorts  of  harm  of  every  thing  I  say  and  do.  How- 
ever, it  doesn't  much  matter,  for  we  go  to-morrow  morn- 
ing." 

"  But  you  will  give  me  credit  at  least  for  meaning  you 
well  ?  " 

"  I  think  you  are  very  jealous  and  suspicious." 

"  You  don't  know  how  you  pain  me  when  you  say 
that." 

"  But  I  must  say  what  I  think." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  G9 

Mary  set  her  little  mouth,  and  looked  down,  and  began 
tapping  her  boot  with  her  parasol.  There  was  an  awk- 
ward silence  while  Tom  considered  within  himself  whether 
she  was  not  right,  and  whether  after  all,  his  own  jealousy 
had  not  been  the  cause  of  the  lecture  he  had  been  deliver- 
ing much  more  than  any  unselfish  wish  for  Mary's  im- 
provement. 

"  It  is  your  turn  now,"  he  said  presently,  leaning  for- 
ward with  his  elbows  on  his  knees,  and  looking  hard  at 
the  gravel.  "  I  may  have  been  foolishly  jealous,  and  I 
thank  you  for  telling  me  so.  But  you  can  tell  me  a  great 
deal  more  if  you  will,  quite  as  good  for  me  to  hear." 

"  No,  I  have  nothing  to  say.  I  dare  say  you  are  open 
and  true,  and  have  nothing  to  hide  or  disguise,  not  even 
about  either  of  the  men  we  met  in  the  Long  Walk  on 
Sunday." 

He  winced  at  this  random  shaft  as  if  he  had  been  stung, 
and  she  saw  that  it  had  gone  home,  and  repented  the  next 
moment.  The  silence  became  more  and  more  embarrass- 
ing. By  good  luck,  however,  their  party  suddenly  ap- 
peared strolling  towards  them  from  the  large  garden. 

"  There's  Uncle  Robert  and  Katie,  and  all  of  them. 
Let  us  join  them." 

She  rose  up  and  he  with  her,  and  as  they  walked  tow- 
ards the  rest  he  said  quickly  in  a  low  voice,  "  Will  you 
forgive  me  if  I  have  pained  you  ?  I  w*as  very  selfish,  and 
am  very  sorry." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  we  were  both  very  foolish.  But  we  wont  do 
it  again." 

"  Here  you  are  at  last.  We  have  been  looking  for  you 
everywhere,"  said  Miss  Winter,  as  they  came  up. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know  how  we  missed  you.  We  came 
straight  from  the  music  tent  to  this  seat,  and  have  not 
moved.     We  knew  you  must  come  by  sooner  or  later." 


70  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  But  it  is  quite  out  of  the  way.  It  was  quite  by  chance 
that  we  came  round  here." 

"  Isn't  Uncle  Robert  tired,  Katie  ? "  said  Tom  ;  "  he 
doesn't  look  well  this  afternoon." 

Katie  instantly  turned  to  her  father,  and  Mr.  Winter 
declared  himself  to  be  much  fatigued.  So  they  wished 
their  hospitable  entertainers  good-by,  and  Tom  hurried 
off  and  got  a  wheel  chair  for  his  uncle,  and  walked  by  his 
side  to  their  lodgings.  The  young  ladies  walked  near  the 
chair  also,  accompanied  by  one  or  two  of  their  acquaint- 
ance ;  in  fact,  they  could  not  move  without  an  escort. 
But  Tom  never  once  turned  his  head  for  a  glance  at  what 
was  going  on,  and  talked  steadily  on  to  his  uncle,  that  he 
might  not  catch  a  stray  word  of  what  the  rest  were  saying. 
Despite  of  all  which  self-denial,  however,  he  was  quite 
aware  somehow  when  he  made  his  bow  at  the  door  that 
Mary  had  been  very  silent  all  the  way  home. 

Mr.  Winter  retired  to  his  room  to  lie  down,  and  his 
daughter  and  niece  remained  in  the  sitting-room.  Mary 
sat  down  and  untied  her  bonnet,  but  did  not  burst  into  her 
usual  flood  of  comments  on  the  events  of  the  day.  Miss 
Winter  looked  at  her  and  said,  — 

"  You  look  tired,  dear,  and  over-excited." 

"  Oh,  yes,  so  I  am.     I've  had  such  a  quarrel  with  Tom." 

"  A  quarrel  —  you're  not  serious  ?  " 

"Indeed  I  am* though.  I  quite  hated  him  for  five 
minutes  at  least." 

"  But  what  did  he  do  ?  " 

"  Why  he  taunted  me  with  being  too  civil  to  everybody, 
and  it  made  me  so  angry.  He  said  I  pretended  to  take 
an  interest  in  ever  so  many  things,  just  to  please  people, 
when  I  didn't  really  care  about  them.  And  it  isn't  true 
now,  Katie  ;  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  dear.  He  never  could  have  said  that.  You 
must  have  misunderstood  him." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  71 

"  There,  I  knew  you  would  say  so.  And  if  it  were 
true,  I'm  sure  it  isn't  wrong.  When  people  talk  to  you,  it 
is  so  easy  to  seem  pleased  and  interested  in  what  they  are 
saying  —  and  then  they  like  you,  and  it  is  so  pleasant  to 
he  liked.  Now,  Katie,  do  you  ever  snap  people's  noses 
off,  or  tell  them  you  think  them  very  foolish,  and  that  you 
don't  care,  and  that  what  they  are  saying  is  all  of  no  con- 
sequence ?  " 

"  I,  dear  ?  I  couldn't  do  it  to  save  my  life  ! " 

"  Oh,  I  was  sure  you  couldn't.  And  he  may  say  what 
he  will,  but  I'm  quite  sure  he  would  not  have  been  pleased 
if  we  had  not  made  ourselves  pleasant  to  his  friends." 

"  That's  quite  true.  He  has  told  me  himself  half  a 
dozen  times  how  delighted  he  was  to  see  you  so  popular." 

"  And  you,  too,  Katie  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.  He  is  very  well  pleased  with  me.  But  it  is 
you  who  have  turned  all  the  heads  in  the  college,  Mary. 
You  are  queen  of  St.  Ambrose  beyond  a  doubt  just  now." 

"  No,  no,  Katie  ;  not  more  than  you,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  say  yes,  yes,  Mary.  You  will  always  be  ten  times 
as  popular  as  I ;  some  people  have  the  gift  of  it ;  I  wish 
I  had.     But  why  do  you  look  so  grave  again  ?  " 

"  Why,  Katie,  don't  you  see  you  are  just  saying  over 
again,  only  in  a  different  way,  what  your  provoking  cousin 
—  I  shall  call  him  Mr.  Brown,  I  think,  in  future  —  was 
telling  me  for  my  good  in  St.  John's  Gardens.  You  saw 
how  long  we  were  away  from  you  :  well,  he  was  lecturing 
me  all  the  time,  only  think ;  and  now  you  are  going  to 
tell  it  me  all  over  again.  But  go  on,  dear;  I  sha'n't 
mind  any  thing  from  you." 

She  put  her  arm  round  her  cousin's  waist,  and  looked 
up  playfully  into  her  face.  Miss  Winter  saw  at  once  that 
no  great  harm,  perhaps  some  good,  had  been  done  in  the 
passage  of  arms  between  her  relatives. 


72  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  You  made  it  all  up,"  she  said,  smiling,  "  before  we 
found  you." 

"  Only  just,  though.  He  begged  my  pardon  just  at 
last,  almost  in  a  whisper,  when  you  were  quite  close  to  us." 

"  And  you  granted  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  I  don't  know  that  I  shall  not 
recall  it." 

"  I  was  sure  you  would  be  falling  out  before  long,  you 
got  on  so  fast.  But  he  isn't  quite  so  easy  to  turn  round 
your  finger  as  you  thought,  Mary." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  that,"  said  Mary,  laughingly  ;  "  you 
saw  how  humble  he  looked  at  last,  and  what  good  order 
he  was  in." 

"  "Well,  dear,  it's  time  to  think  whether  we  shall  go  out 
again." 

"  Let  me  see  ;  there's  the  last  ball.    What  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Why,  I'm  afraid  poor  papa  is  too  tired  to  take  us,  and 
I  don't  know  with  whom  we  could  go.  We  ought  to  begin 
packing,  too,  I  think." 

"  Very  well.     Let  us  have  tea  quietly  at  home." 

"  I  will  write  a  note  to  Tom  to  tell  him.  He  has  done 
his  best  for  us,  poor  fellow,  and  we  ought  to  consider  him 
a  little." 

"  Oh,  yes,  and  ask  him  and  his  friend  Mr.  Hardy  to  tea, 
as  it  is  the  last  night." 

"  If  you  wish  it,  I  should  be  very  glad ;  they  will  amuse 
papa." 

"  Certainly,  and  then  he  will  see  that  I  bear  him  no 
malice.     And  now  I  will  go  and  just  do  my  hair." 

"  Very  well ;  and  we  will  pack  after  they  leave.  How 
strange  home  will  seem  after  all  this  gayety." 

"  Yes  ;  we  seem  to  have  been  here  a  month." 

"  I  do  hope  we  shall  find  all  quiet  at  Englebourn.  I 
am  always  afraid  of  some  trouble  there." 


CHAPTER  V. 

TIIE   END    OF   TIIE    FRESHMAN'S    TEAK. 

On  the  morning  after  Commemoration,  Oxford  was  in 
a  bustle  of  departure.  The  play  had  been  played,  the 
long  vacation  had  begun,  and  visitors  and  members  seemed 
equally  anxious  to  be  off.  At  the  gates  of  the  colleges 
groups  of  men  in  travelling-dresses  waited  for  the  coaches, 
omnibuses,  dog-carts,  and  all  manner  of  vehicles,  which 
were  to  carry  them  to  the  Great  Western  railway  station, 
at  Steventon,  or  elsewhere  to  all  points  of  the  compass. 
Porters  passed  in  and  out  with  portmanteaus,  gun-cases, 
and  baggage  of  all  kinds,  which  they  piled  outside  the 
gates,  or  carried  off  to  the  Mitre  or  the  Angel,  under  the 
vigorous  and  not  too  courteous  orders  of  the  owners.  Col- 
lege servants  flitted  round  the  groups  to  take  last  instruc- 
tions, and,  if  so  might  be,  to  extract  the  balances  of  extor- 
tionate bills  out  of  their  departing  masters.  Dog-fanciers 
were  there  also,  holding  terriers  ;  and  scouts  from  the 
cricketing-grounds,  with  bats  and  pads  under  their  arms ; 
and  hostlers,  and  men  from  the  boats,  all  on  the  same  er- 
rand of  getting  the  last  shilling  out  of  their  patrons  —  a 
fawning,  obsequious  crowd  for  the  most  part,  with  here 
and  there  a  sturdy  Briton  who  felt  that  he  was  only  come 
after  his  due. 

Through   such  a  group,  at  the  gate  of  St.  Ambrose, 
Torn  and  Hardy  passed  soon  after  breakfast  time,  in  cap 
and  gown,  which  costume  excited  no  small  astonishment. 
7 


74  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFOUB. 

"  Hullo,  Brown,  old  fellow !  aint  you  off  this  morn- 
ing?" 

"  No,  I  shall  be  up  for  a  day  or  two  yet." 

"  AVish  you  joy.  I  wouldn't  be  staying  up  over  to-day 
for  something." 

"  But  you'll  be  at  Henley  to-morrow  ?  "  said  Diogenes, 
confidently,  who  stood  at  the  gate  in  boating  coat  and  flan- 
nels, a  big  stick  and  knapsack,  waiting  for  a  companion, 
with  whom  he  was  going  to  walk  to  Henley. 

"  And  at  Lord's  on  Friday,"  said  another.  "  It  will  be 
a  famous  match ;  come  and  dine  somewhere  afterwards, 
and  go  to  the  Haymarket  with  us." 

"  You  know  the  Leander  are  to  be  at  Henley,"  put  in 
Diogenes,  "  and  Cambi'idge  is  very  strong.  There  Avill 
be  a  splendid  race  for  the  cup,  but  Jervis  thinks  we  are 
all  right." 

"  Bother  your  eternal  races ;  haven't  you  had  enough 
of  them  ?  "  said  the  Londoner.  "  You  had  much  better 
come  up  to  the  little  village  at  once,  Brown,  and  stay 
there  while  the  coin  lasts." 

"  It'  I  get  away  at  all,  it  will  be  to  Henley,"  said  Tom. 

"  Of  course,  I  knew  that,"  said  Diogenes,  triumphantly  ; 
"  our  boat  ought  to  be  on  for  the  ladies'  plate.  If  only 
Jervis  were  not  in  the  University  crew  !  I  thought  you 
were  to  pull  at  Henley,  Hardy  ?  " 

"  I  was  asked  to  pull,  but  I  couldn't  manage  the  time 
with  the  schools  coming  on,  and  when  the  examinations 
were  over,  it  was  too  late.  The  crew  were  picked  and 
half  trained,  and  none  of  them  have  broken  down." 

"  What!  every  one  of  them  stood  putting  through  the 
sieve  ?     They  must  be  a  rare  crew,  then,"  said  another. 

"  You're  right,"  said  Diogenes.  "  Oh  !  here  you  are  at 
last,"  he  added,  as  another  man  in  flannels  and  knapsack 
came  out  of  college.     "  Well,  good-by,  all,  and  a  pleasant 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  75 

vacation ;  we  must  be  off,  if  we  are  to  be  in  time  to  sec 
our  crew  pull  over  the  course  to-night : "  and  the  two 
marched  off  towards  Magdalen  bridge. 

"  By  Jove  !  "  remarked  a  fast  youth,  in  most  elaborate 
toilette,  looking  after  them,  "  fancy  two  fellows  grinding 
off  to  Henley,  five  miles  an  hour,  in  this  sun,  when  they 
might  drop  up  to  the  metropolis  by  train  in  half  the  time  ? 
Isn't  it  marvellous  ?  " 

"  I  should  like  to  be  going  with  them,"  said  Tom. 

"  Well,  there's  no  accounting  for  tastes.  Here's  our 
coach." 

"  Good-by,  then  ; "  and  Tom  shook  hands,  and  leaving 
the  coach  to  get  packed  with  portmanteaus,  terriers,  and 
undergraduates,  he  and  Hardy  walked  off  towards  the 
High  Street. 

"  So  you're  not  going  to-day  ?  "  Hardy  said. 

"  No  ;  two  or  three  of  my  old  school-fellows  are  coming 
up  to  stand  for  scholarships,  and  I  must  be  here  to  receive 
them.  But  it's  very  unlucky ;  I  should  have  liked  so  to 
have  been  at  Henley." 

"  Look,  their  carriage  is  already  at  the  door,"  said 
Hardy,  pointing  up  High  Street,  into  which  they  now 
turned.  There  were  a  dozen  post-chaises  and  carriages 
loading  in  front  of  different  houses  in  the  street,  and 
amongst  them  Mr.  Winter's  old-fashioned  travelling-ba- 
rouche. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Tom  ;  "  that's  some  of  uncle's  fidgeti- 
ness ;  but  he  will  be  sure  to  dawdle  at  the  last.  Come 
along  in." 

"  Don't  you  think  I  had  better  stay  down-stairs  ?  It 
may  seem  intrusive." 

"  No,  come  along.  Why,  they  asked  you  to  come  and 
Bee  the  last  of  them  last  night,  didn't  they?" 

Hardy  did  not  require  any  further  urging  to  induce 


76  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

him  to  follow  his  inclination ;  so  the  two  went  up  together. 
The  breakfast  things  were  still  on  the  table,  at  which  sat 
Miss  Winter,  in  her  bonnet,  employed  in  examining  the 
bill,  with  the  assistance  of  Mary,  who  leant  over  her 
shoulder.     She  looked  up  as  they  entered. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  so  glad  you  are  come.  Poor  Katie  is  so 
bothered,  and  I  can't  help  her.  Do  look  at  the  bill ;  is  it 
all  right  ?  " 

«  Shall  I,  Katie  ?  " 

"  Yes,  please  do.  I  don't  see  any  thing  to  object  to, 
except,  perhaps,  the  things  I  have  marked.  Do  you  think 
we  ought  to  be  charged  half  a  crown  a  day  for  the  kitchen 
fire  ?  " 

"  Fire  in  June !  and  you  have  never  dined  at  home 
once  ?  " 

"  No,  but  we  have  had  tea  several  times." 

"  It  is  a  regular  swindle,"  said  Tom,  taking  the  bill  and 
glancing  at  it.  "  Here,  Hardy,  come  and  help  me  cut 
down  this  precious  total." 

They  sat  down  to  the  bill,  the  ladies  willingly  giving 
place.     Mary  tripped  off  to  the  glass  to  tie  her  bonnet. 

"  Now  that  is  all  right ! "  she  said,  merrily ;  "  why  can't 
one  go  on  without  bills  or  horrid  money  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  why  can't  one  ? "  said  Tom,  "  that  would  suit 
most  of  our  complaints.  But  where's  uncle  ?  has  he  seen 
the  bill  ?  " 

"  No ;  papa  is  in  his  room ;  he  must  not  be  worried, 
or  the  journey  will  be  too  much  for  him." 

Here  the  ladies'-maid  arrived,  with  a  message  that  her 
father  wished  to  see  Miss  Winter. 

"  Leave  your  money,  Katie,"  said  her  cousin  ;  "  this  is 
gentlemen's  business,  and  Tom  and  Mr.  Hardy  will  settle 
it  all  for  us,  I  am  sure." 

Tom    professed    his    entire   willingness    to   accept    the 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  77 

charge,  delighted  at  finding  himself  re-instated  in  his  office 
of  protector  at  Mary's  suggestion.  Had  the  landlord  been 
one  of  his  own  tradesmen,  or  the  bill  his  own  bill,  he  might 
not  have  been  so  well  pleased,  but,  as  neither  of  these  was 
the  case,  and  he  had  Hardy  to  back  him,  he  went  into  the 
matter  with  much  vigor  and  discretion,  and  had  the  land- 
lord up,  made  the  proper  deductions,  and  got  the  bill  set- 
tled and  receipted  in  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  and  Hardy 
addressed  themselves  to  getting  the  carriage  comfortably 
packed,  and  vied  with  one  another  in  settling  and  stowing 
away  in  the  most  convenient  places  the  many  little  odds 
and  ends  which  naturally  accompany  young  ladies  and  in- 
valids on  their  travels ;  in  the  course  of  which  employ- 
ment he  managed  to  snatch  a  few  words  here  and  there 
with  Mary,  and  satisfied  himself  that  she  bore  him  no  ill- 
will  for  the  events  of  the  previous  day. 

At  last,  all  was  ready  for  the  start,  and  Tom  reported 
the  fact  in  the  sitting-room.  "  Then  I  will  go  and  fetch 
papa,"  said  Miss  Winter. 

Tom's  eyes  met  Mary's  at  the  moment.  He  gave  a 
slight  shrug  with  his  shoulders,  and  said,  as  the  door 
closed  after  his  cousin,  "  Really  I  have  no  patience  with 
Uncle  Robert ;  he  leaves  poor  Katie  to  do  every  thing." 

"  Yes  ;  and  how  beautifully  she  does  it  all,  without  a 
word  or,  I  believe,  a  thought  of  complaint !  I  could  never 
be  so  patient." 

"  I  think  it  is  a  pity.  If  Uncle  Robert  were  obliged  to 
exert  himself  it  would  be  much  better  for  him.  Katie  is 
only  spoiling  him  and  wearing  herself  out." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  easy  for  you  and  me  to  think  and  say 
so.  Rut  he  is  her  father  ;  and  then  he  is  really  an  inva- 
lid. So  she  goes  on  devoting  herself  to  him  more  and 
more,  and  feels  she  can  never  do  too  much  for  him." 

"  But  if  she  believed  it  would  be  better  for  him  to  ex- 


78  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

ert  himself  ?  I'm  sure  it  is  the  truth.  Couldn't  you  try 
to  persuade  her  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed ;  it  would  only  worry  her,  and  he  so  cruel. 
But  then  I  am  not  used  to  give  advice,"  she  added,  alter 
a  moment's  pause,  looking  demurely  at  her  gloves ;  "  it 
might  do  good,  perhaps,  now,  if  you  were  to  speak  to  her." 

"  You  think  me  so  well  qualified,  I  suppose,  after  the 
specimen  you  had  yesterday.  Thank  you  ;  I  have  had 
enough  of  lecturing  for  the  present." 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,  really,  for  what  you 
said  to  me,"  said  Mary,  still  looking  at  her  gloves. 

The  subject  was  a  very  distasteful  one  to  Tom.  He 
looked  at  her  for  a  moment,  to  see  whether  she  was  laugh- 
ing at  him,  and  then  broke  it  off  abruptly, — 

"  I  hope  you  have  enjoyed  your  visit  ?  " 

"  Oli,  yes,  so  very  much.  I  shall  think  of  it  all  the 
summer." 

"  Where  shall  you  be  all  the  summer  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Not  so  very  far  from  you.  Papa  has  taken  a  house 
only  eight  miles  from  Englebourn,  and  Katie  says  you 
live  within  a  day's  drive  of  them." 

"  And  shall  you  be  there  all  the  vacation  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  we  hope  to  get  Katie  over  often.  Could  not 
you  come  and  meet  her  ?  it  would  be  so  pleasant." 

"  But  do  you  think  I  might  ?  I  don't  know  your  father 
or  mother." 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  papa  and  mamma  are  very  kind,  and  will 
ask  anybody  I  like.  Besides,  you  are  a  cousin,  you 
know." 

"  Only  up  at  Oxford,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Well,  now  you  will  see.  We  are  going  to  have  a 
great  archery  party  next  month,  and  you  shall  have  an 
invitation." 

"  Will  you  write  it  for  me  yourself?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  79 

"  Very  likely  ;  but  why  ?  " 

"  Don't  you  think  I  shall  value  a  note  in  your  hand 
more  than  —  " 

"  Nonsense  ;  now,  remember  your  lecture  —  Oh,  here 
are  Uncle  Robert  and  Katie." 

Mr.  Winter  was  very  gracious,  and  thanked  Tom  for 
all  his  attentions.  lie  had  been  very  pleased,  he  said,  to 
make  his  nephew's  acquaintance  again  so  pleasantly,  and 
hoped  he  would  come  and  pass  a  day  or  two  at  Engle- 
bourn  in  the  vacation.  In  his  sad  state  of  health  he  could 
not  do  much  to  entertain  a  young  man,  but  he  could  pro- 
cure him  some  good  fishing  and  shooting  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. Tom  assured  his  uncle  that  nothing  would  please 
him  so  much  as  a  visit  to  Englebourn.  Perhaps  the  re- 
membrance of  the  distance  between  that  parish  and  the 
place  where  Mary  was  to  spend  the  summer  may  have 
added  a  little  to  his  enthusiasm. 

"  I  should  have  liked  also  to  have  thanked  your  friend 
for  his  hospitality,"  Mr.  Winter  went  on.  "  I  understood 
my  daughter  to  say  he  was  here." 

"  Yes,  he  was  here  just  now,"  said  Tom  ;  "  he  must  be 
below,  I  think." 

"  What,  that  good  Mr.  Hardy  ?  "  said  Mary,  who  was 
looking  out  of  the  window  ;  "  there  he  is  in  the  street. 
He  has  just  helped  Hopkins  into  the  rumble,  and  handed 
her  things  to  her  as  if  she  were  a  duchess.  She  has  been 
so  cross  all  the  morning,  and  now  she  looks  quite  gra- 
cious." 

"  Then,  I  think,  papa,  we  had  better  start." 

"Let  me  give  you  an  arm  down-stairs,  uncle,"  said 
Tom ;  and  so  he  helped  his  uncle  down  to  the  carriage, 
the  two  young  ladies  following  behind,  and  the  landlord 
standing  witli  obsequious  bows  at  his  shop  door  as  if  ho 
had  never  made  an  overcharge  in  his  life. 


80  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

While  Mr.  Winter  was  making  his  acknowledgments 
to  Hardy  and  being  helped  by  him  into  the  most  comfort- 
able seat  in  the  carriage,  Tom  was  making  tender  adieus 
to  the  two  young  ladies  behind,  and  even  succeeded  in 
keeping  a  rose-bud  which  Mary  was  carrying  when  they 
took  their  seats.  She  parted  from  it  half-laughingly,  and 
the  post-boy  cracked  his  whip  and  the  barouche  went 
lumbering  along  High  Street.  Hardy  and  Tom  watched 
it  until  it  turned  down  St.  Aldates  towards  Folly  bridge, 
the  latter  waving  his  hand  as  it  disappeared,  and  then 
they  turned  and  strolled  slowly  away  side  by  side  in  si- 
lence. The  sight  of  all  the  other  departures  increased 
the  uncomfortable,  unsatisfied  feeling  which  that  of  his 
own  relatives  had  already  produced  in  Tom's  mind. 

"  Well,  it  isn't  lively  stopping  up  here  when  everybody 
is  going,  is  it  ?     What  is  one  to  do  ?  " 

"  Oughtn't  you  to  be  looking  after  your  friends  who 
are  coming  up  to  try  for  the  scholarships  ?  " 

"  No,  they  wont  be  up  till  the  afternoon  by  coach." 

"  Shall  we  go  down  the  river,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  it  would  be  miserable.     Hullo,  look  here,  what's 


up 


?» 


The  cause  of  Tom's  astonishment  was  the  appearance 
of  the  usual  procession  of  University  beadles  carrying 
silver-headed  maces,  and  escorting  the  vice-chancellor  tow- 
ards St.  Mary's. 

"  Why,  the  bells  are  going  for  service ;  there  must  be  a 
University  sermon." 

"  Where's  the  congregation  to  come  from  ?  Why,  half 
Oxford  is  off  by  this  time,  and  those  that  are  left  wont 
want  to  be  hearing  sermons." 

k'  Well,  I  don't  know.  A  good  many  men  seem  to  be 
going.     I  wonder  who  is  to  preach." 

*  I  vote  we  go.     It  will  help  to  pass  the  time." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  81 

Hardy  agreed,  and  they  followed  the  procession  and 
went  up  into  the  gallery  of  St.  Mary's.  There  was  a 
very  fair  congregation  in  the  body  of  the  church,  as  the 
college  staffs  had  not  yet  broken  up,  and  even  in  the  gal- 
lery the  undergraduates  mustered  in  some  force.  The 
restless  feeling  which  had  brought  our  hero  there  seemed 
to  have  had  a  like  effect  on  most  of  the  men  who  were  for 
one  reason  or  another  unable  to  start  on  that  day. 

Tom  looked  steadily  into  his  cap  during  the  bidding 
prayer,  and  sat  down  composedly  afterwards ;  expecting 
not  to  be  much  interested  or  benefited,  but  comforted 
with  the  assurance  that  at  any  rate  it  would  be  almost 
luncheon  time  before  he  would  be  again  thrown  on  his  own 
resources.  But  he  was  mistaken  in  his  expectations,  and, 
before  the  preacher  had  been  speaking  for  three  minutes, 
was  all  attention.  The  sermon  was  upon  the  freedom 
of  the  Gospel,  the  power  by  which  it  bursts  all  bonds  and 
lets  the  oppressed  go  free.  Its  burden  was,  "  Ye  shall 
know  the  truth,  and  the  truth  shall  make  you  free." 
The  preacher  dwelt  on  many  sides  of  these  words  ;  the 
freedom  of  nations,  of  societies,  of  universities,  of  the 
conscience  of  each  individual  man,  were  each  glanced  at 
in  turn  ;  and  then  reminding  his  hearers  of  the  end  of  the 
academical  year,  he  went  on,  — 

"  "We  have  heard  it  said  in  the  troubles  and  toils  and 
temptations  of  the  world,*  'Oh,  that  I  could  begin  life 
over  again  !  oh,  that  I  could  fall  asleep,  and  wake  up, 
twelve,  six,  three  months  hence,  and  find  my  difficulties 
solved!'     That  which  we   may  vainly  wish  elsewhere  by 

*  This  quotation  is  from  the  sermon  preached  by  Dr.  Stanley  be- 
fore the  University  on  Act  Sunday,  1859  (published  by  J.  II. 
Parker,  of  Oxford).  I  hope  that  the  distinguished  professor  whoso 
words  they  are  will  pardon  the  liberty  I  have  taken  in  quoting  them. 
No  words  of  my  own  could  have  given  so  vividly  what  I  wanted  to 
say. 


82  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

a  happy  Providence  is  furnished  to  us  by  the  natural 
divisions  of  meeting  and  parting  in  this  place.  To  every 
one  of  us,  old  and  young,  the  long  vacation  on  which 
we  are  now  entering,  gives  us  a  breathing  space,  and 
time  to  break  the  bonds  which  place  and  circumstance 
have  woven  round  us  during  the  year  that  is  past.  From 
all  our  petty  cares,  and  confusions,  and  intrigues ;  from 
the  dust  and  clatter  of  this  huge  machinery  amidst 
which  we  labor  and  toil ;  from  whatever  cynical  con- 
tempt of  what  is  generous  and  devout ;  from  whatever 
fanciful  disregard  of  what  is  just  and  wise ;  from  what- 
ever gall  and  bitterness  is  secreted  in  our  best  motives ; 
from  whatever  bonds  of  unequal  dealing  in  which  we 
have  entangled  ourselves  or  others,  we  are  now  for  a  time 
set  free.  We  stand  on  the  edge  of  a  river  which  shall 
for  a  time  at  least  sweep  them  away  ;  that  ancient  river, 
the  river  Kishon,  the  river  of  fresh  thoughts,  and  fresh 
scenes  and  fresh  feelings,  and  fresh  hopes ;  one  surely 
amongst  the  blessed  means  whereby  God's  free  and  lov- 
ing grace  works  out  our  deliverance,  our  redemption  from 
evil,  and  renews  the  strength  of  each  succeeding  year,  so 
that '  we  may  mount  up  again  as  eagles,  may  run  and  not 
be  weary,  may  walk  and  not  faint.' 

"  And,  if  turning  to  the  younger  part  of  my  hearers, 
I  may  still  more  directly  apply  this  general  lesson  to 
them.  Is  there  no  one  who,  in  some  shape  or  other,  does 
not  feel  the  bondage  of  which  I  have  been  speaking  ?  He 
has  something  on  his  conscience  ;  he  has  something  on  his 
mind;  extravagance,  sin,  debt,  falsehood.  Every  morning 
in  the  first  few  minutes  after  waking,  it  is  the  first  thought 
that  occurs  to  him  ;  he  drives  it  away  in  the  day  ;  he  drives 
it  off  by  recklessness,  which  only  binds  it  more  and  more 
closely  round  him.  Is  there  any  one  who  has  ever  felt, 
who  is    at  this  moment    feeling,    this    grievous  burden  ? 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  83 

What  is  the  deliverance  ?  How  shall  he  set  himself  free  ? 
In  what  special  way  does  the  redemption  of  Christ,  the 
free  grace  of  God,  present  itself  to  him  ?  There  is  at 
least  one  way  clear  and  simple.  He  knows  it  better  than 
any  one  can  tell  him.  It  is  those  same  words  which  I 
used  with  another  purpose.  '  The  truth  shall  make  him 
free.'  It  is  to  tell  the  truth  to  his  friend,  to  his  parent,  to 
any  one,  whosoever  it  be,  from  whom  he  is  concealing 
that  which  he  ought  to  make  known.  One  word  of  open, 
frank  disclosure  —  one  resolution  to  act  sincerely  and 
honestly  by  himself  and  others  — one  ray  of  truth  let  into 
that  dark  corner  will  indeed  set  the  whole  man  free. 

"  Liberavi  animam  meam.  '  I  have  delivered  my  soul.' 
What  a  faithful  expression  is  this  of  the  relief,  the  deliv- 
erance effected  by  one  strong  effort  of  will  in  one  moment 
of  time.  '  I  will  arise  and  go  to  my  father,  and  will  say 
unto  him,  Father,  I  have  sinned  against  Heaven  and  be- 
fore thee,  and  am  no  more  worthy  to  be  called  thy  son.' 
So  we  heard  the  prodigal's  confession  this  morning.  So 
may  the  thought  well  spring  up  in  the  minds  of  any  who 
in  the  course  of  this  last  year  have  wandered  into  sin, 
have  found  themselves  beset  with  evil  habits  of  wicked 
idleness,  of  wretched  self-indulgence.  Now  that  you  are 
indeed  in  the  literal  sense  of  the  word  about  to  rise  and 
go  to  your  father,  now  that  you  will  be  able  to  shake  off 
the  bondage  of  bad  companionship,  now  that  the  whole 
length  of  this  long  absence  "will  roll  between  you  and  the 
past  —  take  a  long  breath,  break  off  the  yoke  of  your  sin, 
of  your  fault,  of  your  wrong-doing,  of  your  folly,  of  your 
perverseness,  of  your  pride,  of  your  vanity,  of  your  weak- 
ness ;  break  it  off  by  truth,  break  it  off  by  one  stout  effort, 
in  one  steadfast  prayer ;  break  it  off  by  innocent  and  free 
enjoyment ;  break  it  off  by  honest  work.  Put  your  '  hand 
to  the  nail  and  your  right  hand  to  the  workman's  ham- 


84  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

mer : '  strike  through  the  enemy  which  has  ensnared  you, 
pierce  and  strike  him  through  and  through.  However 
powerful  he  seems  '  at  your  feet  lie  will  bow,  he  will  fall, 
he  will  lie  down ;  at  your  feet  he  will  bow  and  fall,  and 
where  he  bows,  there  will  he  rise  up  no  more.  So  let  all 
thine  enemies  perish,  O  Lord  ;  but  let  them  that  love 
thee  be  as  the  sun  when  he  goeth  forth   in  his  might.''' 

The  two  friends  separated  themselves  from  the  crowd 
in  the  porch  and  walked  away,  side  by  side,  towards  their 
college. 

"  Well,  that  wasn't  a  bad  move  of  ours.  It  is  worth 
something  to  hear  a  man  preach  that  sort  of  doctrine,"  said 
Hardy. 

"  How  does  he  get  to  know  it  all  ?  "  said  Tom,  medita- 
tively. 

"All  what?     I  don't  see  your  puzzle." 

"  Why,  all  sorts  of  things  that  are  in  a  fellow's  mind  : 
what  he  thinks  about  the  first  thing  in  the  morning,  for 
instance." 

"  Pretty  much  like  the  rest  of  us,  I  take  it :  by  looking 
at  home.  You  don't  suppose  that  University  preachers 
are  unlike  you  and  me." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know.  Now  do  you  think  he  ever  had 
any  thing  on  his  mind  that  was  always  coming  up  and 
plaguing  him,  and  which  he  never  told  to  anybody  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  should  think  so ;  most  of  us  must  have  had." 

"  Have  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  often  and  often  " 

"  And  you  think  his  remedy  the  right  one  ?  " 

"  The  only  one.  Make  a  clean  breast  of  it,  and  the 
sting  is  gone.  There's  plenty  more  to  be  done  afterwards, 
of  course ;  but  there's  no  question  about  step  No.  1." 

"  Did  you  ever  owe  a  hundred  pounds  that  you  couldn't 
pay  ?  "  said  Tom,  with  a  sudden  effort ;  and  his  secret  had 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  85 

hardly  passed  his  lips  before  he  felt  a  relief  which  sur- 
prised himself. 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  said  Hardy,  stopping  in  the  street, 
"  you  don't  mean  to  say  you  are  speaking  of  yourself?  " 

"  I  do  though,"  said  Tom,  "  and  it  has  been  on  my  mind 
ever  since  the  beginning  of  Easter  term,  and  has  spoilt 
my  temper  and  every  thing  —  that  and  something  else 
that  you  know  of.  You  must  have  seen  me  getting  more 
and  more  ill-tempered,  I'm  sure.  And  I  have  thought  of 
it  the  first  thing  in  the  morning  and  the  last  thing  at  night, 
and  tried  to  drive  the  thought  away  just  as  he  said  one 
did  in  his  sermon.  By  Jove,  I  thought  he  knew  all  about 
it,  for  he  looked  right  at  me  just  when  he  came  to  that 
place." 

"  But,  Brown,  how  do  you  mean  you  owe  a  hundred 
pounds?  You  haven't  read  much,  certainly ;  but  you 
haven't  hunted,  or  gambled,  or  tailored  much,  or  gone  into 
any  other  extravagant  folly.     You  must  be  dreaming." 

"  Am  I  though  ?  Come  up  to  my  rooms  and  I'll  tell 
you  all  about  it :  I  feel  better  already,  now  I've  let  it 
out.  I'll  send  over  for  your  commons,  and  we'll  have 
some  lunch." 

Hardy  followed  his  friend  in  much  trouble  of  mind, 
considering  in  himself  whether  with  the  remainder  of  his 
savings  he  could  not  make  up  the  sum  which  Tom  had 
named.  Fortunately  for  both  of  them  a  short  calculation 
showed  him  that  he  could  not,  and  he  gave  up  the  idea  of 
delivering  his  friend  in  this  summary  manner  with  a  sigh. 
He  remained  closeted  with  Tom  for  an  hour,  and  then 
came  out,  looking  serious  still,  but  not  uncomfortable,  and 
went  down  to  the  river.  He  sculled  down  to  Sandford, 
bathed  in  the  lasher,  and  returned  in  time  for  chapel.  He 
stayed  outside  afterwards,  and  Tom  came  up  to  hiax  and 
seized  his  arms. 


8G  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I've  done  it,  old  fellow,"  he  said  ;  "  look  here ; "  and 
produced  a  letter.  Hardy  glanced  at  the  direction,  and 
saw  that  it  was  to  his  father. 

"  Come  along  and  post  it,"  said  Tom,  "  and  then  I  shall 
feel  all  right." 

They  walked  off  quickly  to  the  post-office  and  dropped 
the  letter  into  the  box. 

"  There,"  he  said,  as  it  disappeared,  "  liberavi  animam 
meant.  I  owe  the  preacher  a  good  turn  for  that ;  I've  a 
good  mind  to  write  and  thank  him.  Fancy  the  poor  old 
governor's  face  to-morrow  at  breakfast !  " 

"  Well,  you  seem  to  take  it  easy  enough  now,"  said 
Hardy. 

"  I  can't  help  it.  I  tell  you  I  haven't  felt  so  jolly  this 
two  months.  What  a  fool  I  was  not  to  have  done  it  be- 
fore. After  all,  now  I  come  to  think  of  it,  I  can  pay  it 
myself,  at  least  as  soon  as  I  am  of  age,  for  I  know  I've 
some  money,  a  legacy  or  something,  coming  to  me  then. 
But  that  isn't  what  I  care  about  now." 

"  I'm  very  glad,  though,  that  you  have  the  money  of 
your  own." 

"  Yes  ;  but  the  having  told  it  all  is  the  comfort.  Come 
along,  and  let's  see  whether  those  boys  are  come.  The 
Old  Pig  ought  to  be  in  by  this  time,  and  I  want  them  to 
dine  in  Hall.  It's  only  ten  months  since  I  came  up  on  it 
to  matriculate,  and  it  seems  twenty  years.  But  I'm  going 
to  be  a  boy  again  for  to-night ;  you'll  see  if  I'm  not." 


CHAPTER  VI. 

THE    LONG    VACATION    LETTER-BAG. 

June  24,  184-. 

"  My  dear  Tom,  —  Your  letter  came  to  hand  this 
morning,  and  it  has  of  course  given  your  mother  and  me 
much  pain.  It  is  not  the  money  that  we  care  about,  but 
that  our  son  should  have  deliberately  undertaken,  or  pre- 
tended to  undertake,  what  he  must  have  known  at  the 
time  he  could  not  perform  himself. 

"I  have  written  to  my  bankers  to  pay  £100  at  once  to 
your  account  at  the  Oxford  Bank.  I  have  also  requested 
my  solicitor  to  go  over  to  Oxford,  and  he  will  probably 
call  on  you  the  day  after  you  receive  this.  You  say  that 
this  person  who  holds  your  note  of  hand  is  now  in  Oxford.. 
You  will  see  him  in  the  presence  of  my  solicitor,  to  whom 
you  will  hand  the  note  when  you  have  recovered  it.  I 
shall  consider  afterwards  what  further  steps  will  have  to 
be  taken  in  the  matter. 

"  You  will  not  be  of  age  for  a  year.  It  will  be  time 
enough  then  to  determine  whether  you  will  repay  the  bal- 
ance of  this  money  out  of  the  legacy  to  which  you  will  be 
entitled  under  your  grandfather's  will.  In  the  mean  time, 
I  shall  deduct  at  the  rate  of  £50  a  year  from  your  allow- 
ance, and  I  shall  hold  you  bound  in  honor  to  reduce  your 
expenditure  by  this  amount.  You  are  no  longer  a  boy, 
and  one  of  the  first  duties  which  a  man  owes  to  his  friends 
and  to  society  is  to  live  within  his  income. 


88  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  make  this  advance  to  you  on  two  conditions.  First, 
that  you  will  never  again  put  your  hand  to  a  note  or  hill 
in  a  transaction  of  this  kind.  If  you  have  money,  lend  it 
or  spend  it.  You  may  lend  or  spend  foolishly,  but  that 
is  not  the  point  here ;  at  any  rate,  you  are  dealing  with 
what  is  your  own.  But  in  transactions  of  this  kind  you 
are  dealing  with  what  is  not  your  own.  A  gentleman 
should  shrink  from  the  possibility  of  having  to  come  on 
others,  even  on  his  own  father,  for  the  fulfilment  of  his 
obligations  as  he  would  from  a  lie.  I  would  sooner  see  a 
son  of  mine  in  his  grave  than  crawling  on  through  life  a 
slave  to  wants  and  habits  which  he  must  gratify  at  other 
people's  expense. 

"  My  second  condition  is,  that  you  put  an  end  to  your 
acquaintance  with  these  two  gentlemen  who  have  led  you 
into  this  scrape,  and  have  divided  the  proceeds  of  your 
joint  note  between  them.  They  are  both  your  seniors  in 
standing,  you  say,  and  they  appear  to  be  familiar  with  this 
plan  of  raising  money  at  the  expense  of  other  people. 
The  plain  English  word  for  such  doings  is  swindling. 
What  pains  me  most  is  that  you  should  have  become  inti- 
mate with  young  men  of  this  kind.  I  am  not  sure  that  it 
will  not  be  my  duty  to  lay  the  whole  matter  before  the 
authorities  of  the  college.  You  do  not  mention  their 
names,  and  I  respect  the  feeling  which  has  led  you  not  to 
mention  them.  I  shall  know  them  quite  soon  enough 
through  my  solicitor,  who  will  forward  me  a  copy  of  the 
note  of  hand  and  signatures  in  due  course. 

"  Your  letter  makes  general  allusion  to  other  matters ; 
and  I  gather  from  it  that  you  are  dissatisfied  Avith  the  man- 
ner in  which  you  have  spent  your  first  year  at  Oxford.  I 
do  not  ask  for  specific  confessions,  which  you  seem  inclined 
to  offer  me  ;  in  fact,  I  would  sooner  not  have  them,  unless 
there  is  any  other  matter  in  which  you  want  assistance  or 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  89 

advice  from  me.  I  know  from  experience  that  Oxford  is 
a  place  full  of  temptation  of  all  kinds,  offered  to  young 
men  at  the  most  critical  time  of  their  lives.  Knowing 
this,  I  have  deliberately  accepted  the  responsibility  of 
sending  you  there,  and  I  do  not  repent  it.  I  am  glad  that 
you  are  dissatisfied  with  your  first  year.  If  you  had  not 
been,  I  should  have  felt  much  more  anxious  about  your 
second.  Let  bygones  be  bygones  between  you  and  me. 
You  know  where  to  go  for  strength,  and  to  make  confes- 
sions which  no  human  ear  should  hear,  for  no  human  judg- 
ment can  weigh  the  cause.  The  secret  places  of  a  man's 
heart  are  for  himself  and  God.  Your  mother  sends  her 
love. 

"  I  am,  ever  your  affectionate  father, 

"John  Brown." 

June  2Gth,  184-. 

"  My  dear  Boy,  —  I  am  not  sorry  that  you  have  taken 
my  last  letter  as  you  have  done.  It  is  quite  right  to  be 
sensitive  on  these  points,  and  it  will  have  done  you  no 
harm  to  have  fancied  for  forty-eight  hours  that  you  had 
in  my  judgment  lost  caste  as  a  gentleman.  But  now  I 
am  very  glad  to  be  able  to  ease  your  mind  on  this  point. 
You  have  done  a  very  foolish  thing ;  but  it  is  only  the 
habit,  and  the  getting  others  to  bind  themselves,  and  not 
the  doing  it  one's  self  for  others,  which  is  disgraceful.  You 
are  going  to  pay  honorably  for  your  folly,  and  will  owe 
me  neither  thanks  nor  money  in  the  transaction.  I  have 
chosen  my  own  terms  for  repayment,  which  you  have  ac- 
cepted, and  so  the  financial  question  is  disposed  of. 

"  I  have  considered  what  you  say  as  to  your  compan- 
ions,—  friends  I  will  not  call  them,  —  and  will  promise 
you  not  to  take  any  further  steps,  or  to  mention  the  sub- 
ject to  any  one.  But  I  must  insist  on  my  second  condi- 
8* 


90  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

tion,  that  you  avoid  all  further  intimacy  with  them.  I  do 
not  mean  that  you  are  to  cut  them,  or  to  do  any  thing  that 
will  attract  attention.     But,  no  more  intimacy. 

"  And  now,  my  dear  boy,  as  to  the  rest  of  your  letter. 
Mine  must  indeed  have  failed  to  express  my  meaning. 
God  forbid  that  there  should  not  be  the  most  perfect  con- 
fidence between  us.  There  is  nothing  which  I  desire  or 
value  more.  I  only  question  whether  special  confessions 
will  conduce  to  it.  My  experience  is  against  them.  I 
almost  doubt  whether  they  can  be  perfectly  honest  be- 
tween man  and  man ;  and,  taking  into  account  the  differ- 
ence of  our  ages,  it  seems  to  me  much  more  likely  that 
we  should  misunderstand  one  another.  But  having  said 
this,  I  leave  it  to  you  to  follow  your  own  conscience  in  the 
matter.  If  there  is  any  burden  which  I  can  help  you  to 
bear,  it  will  be  my  greatest  pleasure,  as  it  is  my  duty  to 
do  it.  So  now  say  what  you  please,  or  say  no  more.  If 
you  speak,  it  will  be  to  one  who  has  felt  and  remembers 
a  young  man's  trials. 

"  We  hope  you  will  be  able  to  come  home  to-morrow, 
or  the  next  day,  at  latest.  Your  mother  is  longing  to  see 
you,  and  I  should  be  glad  to  have  you  here  for  a  day  or 
two  before  the  assizes,  which  are  held  next  week.  I 
should  rather  like  you  to  accompany  me  to  them,  as  it 
will  give  me  the  opportunity  of  introducing  you  to  my 
brother  magistrates  from  other  parts  of  the  county,  whom 
you  are  not  likely  to  meet  elsewhere,  and  it  is  a  good 
thing  for  a  young  man  to  know  his  own  county  well. 

"  The  cricket  club  is  very  flourishing  you  will  be  glad 
to  hear,  and  they  have  put  off  their  best  matches,  espe- 
cially those  with  the  South  Hants  and  Landsdown,  till  your 
return  ;  so  you  are  in  great  request,  you  see.  I  am  told 
that  the  fishing  is  very  good  this  year,  and  am  promised 
several  days  for  you  in  the  club  water. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  91 

"  September  is  a  long  way  off,  but  there  is  nothing  like 
being  beforehand.  I  have  put  your  name  down  for  a  li- 
cense :  and  it  is  time  you  should  have  a  good  gun  of  your 
own  ;  so  I  have  ordered  one  for  you  from  a  man  who  has 
lately  settled  in  the  county.  He  was  Purdy's  foreman, 
with  whom  I  used  to  build,  and,  I  can  see,  understands 
his  business  thoroughly.  His  locks  are  as  good  as  any  I 
have  ever  seen.  I  have  told  him  to  make  the  stock  rather 
longer,  and  not  quite  so  straight  as  that  of  my  old  double 
with  which  you  shot  last  year.  I  think  I  remember  you 
criticised  my  weapon  on  these  points ;  but  there  will  be 
time  for  you  to  alter  the  details  after  you  get  home,  if 
you  disapprove  of  my  orders.  It  will  be  more  satisfactory 
if  it  is  built  under  your  own  eye.  If  you  continue  in  the 
mind  for  a  month's  reading  with  your  friend  Mr.  Hardy, 
we  will  arrange  it  towards  the  end  of  the  vacation  ;  but 
would  he  not  come  here  ?  From  what  you  say  we  should 
very  much  like  to  know  him.  Pray  ask  him  from  me 
whether  he  will  pass  the  last  month  of  the  vacation  here 
coaching  you.  I  should  like  you  to  be  his  first  regular 
pupil.  Of  course,  this  will  be  my  affair.  And  now  God 
bless  you,  and  come  home  as  soon  as  you  can.  Your 
mother  sends  her  best  love. 

"  Ever  your  most  affectionate 

"John  Brown." 

"Engleeourn  Rectory, 
June  28th,  184-. 
"  Dearest  Mary,  —  How  good  of  you  to  write  to  me 
so  soon !  Your  letter  has  come  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine. 
I  am  in  the  midst  of  worries  already.  Indeed,  as  you 
know,  I  could  never  quite  throw  off  the  fear  of  what 
might  be  happening  here,  while  we  were  enjoying  our- 
selves at  Oxford,  and  it  has  all  turned  out  even  worse 


92  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

than  I  expected.  I  shall  never  be  able  to  go  away  again 
in  comfort,  I  think.  And  yet,  if  I  had  been  here,  I  don't 
know  that  I  could  have  done  any  good.  It  is  so  very  sad 
that  poor  papa  is  unable  to  attend  to  his  magistrate's  busi- 
ness, and  he  has  been  worse  than  usual,  quite  laid  up  in 
fact,  since  our  return.  There  is  no  other  magistrate  — 
not  even  a  gentleman  in  the  place,  as  you  know,  except 
the  curate,  and  they  will  not  listen  to  him,  even  if  he 
would  interfere  in  their  quarrels.  But  he  says  he  will 
not  meddle  with  secular  matters ;  and,  poor  man,  I  cannot 
blame  him,  for  it  is  very  sad  and  wearing  to  be  mixed  up 
in  it  all. 

"  But  now  I  must  tell  you  all  my  troubles.  You  re- 
member the  men  whom  we  saw  mowing  together  just  be- 
fore we  went  to  Oxford.  Betty  Winburn's  son  was  one 
of  them,  and  I  am  afraid  the  rest  are  not  at  all  good  com- 
pany for  him.  When  they  had  finished  papa's  hay,  they 
went  to  mow  for  Farmer  Tester.  You  must  remember 
him,  dear,  I  am  sure ;  the  tall,  gaunt  man,  with  heavy, 
thick  lips,  and  a  broken  nose,  and  the  top  of  his  head 
quite  flat,  as  if  it  had  been  cut  off  a  little  above  his  eye- 
brows. He  is  a  very  miserly  man,  and  a  hard  master ; 
at  least,  all  the  poor  people  tell  me  so,  and  he  looks  cruel. 
I  have  always  been  afraid  of  him,  and  disliked  him,  for  I 
remember  as  a  child  hearing  papa  complain  how  trouble- 
some he  was  in  the  vestry ;  and  except  old  Simon,  who, 
I  believe,  only  does  it  from  perverseness,  I  have  never 
heard  anybody  speak  well  of  him. 

"  The  first  day  that  the  men  went  to  mow  for  Farmer 
Tester,  he  gave  them  sour  beer  to  drink.  You  see,  dear, 
they  bargain  to  mow  for  so  much  money  and  their  beer. 
They  were  very  discontented  at  this,  and  they  lost  a  good 
deal  of  time  going  to  complain  to  him  about  it,  and  they 
had  high  words. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  93 

"  The  men  said  that  the  beer  wasn't  fit  for  pigs,  and  the 
farmer  said  it  was  quite  good  enough  '  for  such  as  they,' 
and  if  they  didn't  like  his  beer  they  might  buy  their  own. 
In  the  evening,  too,  he  came  down  and  complained  that 
the  mowing  was  bad,  and  then  there  were  more  high 
words,  for  the  men  are  very  jealous  about  their  work. 
However,  they  went  to  work  as  usual  the  next  morning, 
and  all  might  have  gone  off,  but  in  the  day  Farmer  Tester 
found  two  pigs  in  his  turnip-field  which  adjoins  the  com- 
mon, and  had  them  put  in  the  pound.  One  of  these  pigs 
belonged  to  Betty  Winburn's  son,  and  the  other  to  one  of 
the  men  who  was  mowing  with  him ;  so,  when  they  came 
home  at  night,  they  found  what  had  happened. 

"  The  constable  is  our  pound-keeper,  the  little  man  who 
amused  you  so  much :  he  plays  the  bass-viol  in  church. 
When  he  puts  any  beasts  into  the  pound  he  cuts  a  stick 
in  two,  and  gives  one  piece  to  the  person  who  brings  the 
beasts,  and  keeps  the  other  himself;  and  the  owner  of  the 
beasts  has  to  bring  the  other  end  of  the  stick  to  him  be- 
fore he  can  let  them  out.  Therefore,  the  owner,  you  see, 
must  go  to  the  person  who  has  pounded  his  beasts,  and 
make  a  bargain  with  him  for  payment  of  the  damage 
which  has  been  done,  and  so  get  back  the  other  end  of 
the  stick,  which  they  call  the  tally,  to  produce  to  the 
pound-keeper. 

"  Well,  the  men  went  off  to  the  constable's  when  they 
heard  their  pigs  were  pounded,  to  find  who  had  the  tally, 
and.  when  they  found  it  was  Farmer  Tester,  they  went  in 
a  body  to  his  house,  to  remonstrate  with  him,  and  learn 
what  he  set  the  damages  at.  The  farmer  used  dreadful 
language  to  them,  I  hear,  and  said  they  weren't  fit  to 
have  pigs,  and  must  pay  half  a  crown  for  each  pig,  before 
they  should  have  the  tally ;  and  the  men  irritated  him  by 
telling  him  that  his  fences  were  a  shame  to  the  parish,  be- 


94  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

cause  he  was  too  stingy  to  have  them  mended,  and  that 
the  pigs  couldn't  have  found  half  a  crown's  worth  of  tur- 
nips in  the  whole  field,  for  he  never  put  any  manure  on 
it,  except  what  he  could  get  off  the  road,  which  ought  to 
belong  to  the  poor.  At  last  the  farmer  drove  them  away, 
saying  that  he  should  stop  the  money  out  of  the  price  he 
was  to  pay  for  their  mowing. 

"  Then  there  was  very  near  being  a  riot  in  the  parish ; 
for  some  of  the  men  are  very  reckless  people,  and  they 
went  in  the  evening,  and  blew  horns,  and  beat  kettles  be- 
fore his  house,  till  the  constable,  who  has  behaved  very 
well,  persuaded  them  to  go  away. 

"  In  the  morning  one  of  the  pigs  had  been  taken  out  of 
the  pound  ;  not  Betty's  son's,  I  am  glad  to  say,  for  no  doubt 
it  was  very  wrong  of  the  men  to  take  it  out.  The  farmer 
was  furious,  and  went  with  the  constable  in  the  morning 
to  find  the  pig,  but  they  could  hear  nothing  of  it  anywhere. 
James  Pope,  the  man  to  whom  it  belonged,  only  laughed 
at  them,  and  said  that  he  never  could  keep  his  pig  in 
himself,  because  it  was  grandson  to  one  of  the  acting  pigs 
that  went  about  to  the  fairs,  and  all  the  pigs  of  that  fam- 
ily took  to  climbing  naturally ;  so  his  pig  must  have 
climbed  out  of  the  pound.  This  of  course  was  all  a  story ; 
the  men  had  lifted  the  pig  out  of  the  pound,  and  then  killed 
it,  so  that  the  farmer  might  not  find  it,  and  sold  the  meat 
cheap  all  over  the  parish.  Betty  went  to  the  farmer  that 
morning,  and  paid  the  half-crown,  and  got  her  son's  pig 
out  before  he  came  home ;  but  Farmer  Tester  stopped  the 
other  half-crown  out  of  the  men's  wages,  which  made  mat- 
ters worse  than  ever. 

"  The  day  that  we  were  in  the  theatre  at  Oxford,  Farmer 
Tester  was  away  at  one  of  the  markets.  He  turns  his  big 
cattle  out  to  graze  on  the  common,  which  the  poor  people 
say  lie  has  no  right  to  do,  and  in  the  afternoon  a  pony  of 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  05 

his  got  into  the  allotments,  and  Betty's  son  caught  it,  and 
took  it  to  the  constable,  and  had  it  put  in  the  pound.  The 
constable  tried  to  persuade  him  not  to  do  it,  but  it  was  of 
no  use  ;  and  so,  when  Farmer  Tester  came  home,  he  found 
that  his  turn  had  come.  I  am  afraid  that  he  was  not 
sober,  for  I  hear  that  he  behaved  dreadfully  both  to  the 
constable  and  to  Betty's  son,  and  when  he  found  that  he 
could  not  frighten  them,  he  declared  he  would  have  the 
law  of  them,  if  it  cost  him  twenty  pounds.  So  in  the 
morning  he  went  to  fetch  his  lawyer,  and  when  we  got 
home  you  can  fancy  what  a  scene  it  was. 

"  You  remember  how  poorly  papa  was  when  you  left 
us  at  Lanibourn.  By  the  time  we  got  home  he  was  quite 
knocked  up,  and  so  nervous  that  he  was  fit  for  nothing 
except  to  have  a  quiet  cup  of  tea  in  his  own  room.  I  was 
sure,  as  we  drove  up  the  street,  there  was  something  the 
matter.  The  hostler  was  watching  outside  the  Red  Lion, 
and  ran  in  as  soon  as  we  came  in  sight ;  and,  as  we  passed 
the  door,  out  came  Farmer  Tester,  looking  very  flushed  in 
the  face,  and  carrying  his  great  iron-handled  whip,  and  a 
person  with  him,  who  I  found  was  his  lawyer,  and  they 
marched  after  the  carriage.  Then  the  constable  was 
standing  at  his  door,  too,  and  he  came  after  us,  and  there 
was  a  group  of  men  outside  the  rectory  gate.  "VVe  had 
not  been  in  the  house  five  minutes  before  the  servant  came 
in  to  say  that  Farmer  Tester  and  a  gentleman  wanted  to 
see  papa  on  particular  business.  Papa  sent  out  word  he 
was  very  unwell,  and  that  it  was  not  the  proper  time  to 
come  on  business ;  he  would  see  them  the  next  day  at 
twelve  o'clock.  But  they  would  not  go  away,  and  then 
papa  asked  me  to  go  out  and  see  them.  You  can  fancy 
how  disagreeable  it  was ;  and  I  was  so  angry  with  them 
for  coming,  when  they  knew  how  nervous  papa  is  after  a 
journey,  as  well  as  that  I  could  not  have  patience  to  per- 


96  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

suade  them  to  leave  ;  and  so  at  last  they  made  poor  papa 
see  them  after  all.  lie  was  lying  on  a  sofa,  and  quite  unfit 
to  cope  with  a  hard,  bad  man  like  Farmer  Tester,  and  a 
fluent,  plausible  lawyer.  They  told  their  story  all  their  own 
way,  and  the  farmer  declared  that  the  man  had  tempted 
the  pony  into  the  allotments  with  corn.  And  the  lawyer 
said  that  the  constable  had  no  right  to  keep  the  pony  in 
the  pound,  and  that  he  was  liable  to  all  sorts  of  punish- 
ments. They  wanted  papa  to  make  an  order  at  once  for 
the  pound  to  be  opened,  and  I  think  he  would  have  done 
so,"but  I  asked  him  in  a  whisper  to  send  for  the  constable, 
and  hear  what  he  had  to  say.  The  constable  was  waiting 
in  the  kitchen,  so  he  came  in  in  a  minute.  You  can't 
think  how  well  he  behaved ;  I  have  quite  forgiven  him  all 
his  obstinacy  about  the  singing.  He  told  the  whole  story 
about  the  pigs,  and  how  Farmer  Tester  had  stopped  money 
out  of  the  men's  wages.  And  when  the  lawyer  tried  to 
frighten  him,  he  answered  him  quite  boldly,  that  he 
mightn't  know  so  much  about  the  law,  but  he  knew  what 
was  always  the  custom  long  before  his  time  at  Englebourn 
about  the  pound,  and  if  Farmer  Tester  wanted  his  beast 
out,  he  must  bring  the  tally  like  another  man.  Then  the 
lawyer  appealed  to  papa  about  the  law,  and  said  how  ab- 
surd it  was,  and  that  if  such  a  custom  were  to  be  upheld, 
the  man  who  had  the  tally  might  charge  £100  for  the 
damage.  And  poor  papa  looked  through  his  law  books, 
and  could  find  nothing  about  it  all ;  and  while  he  was 
doing  it  Farmer  Tester  began  to  abuse  the  constable,  and 
said  he  sided  with  all  the  good-for-nothing  fellows  in  the 
parish,  and  that  bad  blood  would  come  of  it.  But  the  con- 
stable quite  fired  up  at  that,  and  told  him  that  it  was  such 
as  he  who  made  bad  blood  in  the  parish,  and  that  poor 
folks  had  their  rights  as  well  as  their  betters,  and  should 
have  them  while  he  was  constable.     If  he  got  papa's  or- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  97 

der  to  open  the  pound,  he  supposed  he  must  do  it,  and 
'twas  not  for  him  to  say  what  was  law,  hut  Harry  Win- 
hurn  had  had  to  get  the  tally  for  his  pig  from  Farmer 
Tester,  and  what  was  fair  for  one  was  fair  for  all. 

"  I  was  afraid  papa  would  have  made  the  order,  but  the 
lawjrer  said  something  at  last  which  made  him  take  the 
other  side.  So  he  settled  that  the  farmer  should  pay  five 
shillings  for  the  tally,  which  was  what  he  had  taken  from 
Betty,  and  had  stopped  out  of  the  wages,  and  that  was  the 
only  order  he  would  make,  and  the  lawyer  might  do  what 
he  pleased  about  it.  The  constable  seemed  satisfied  with 
this,  and  undertook  to  take  the  money  down  to  Harry 
Winburn,  for  Farmer  Tester  declared  he  would  sooner 
let  the  pony  starve  than  go  himself.  And  so  papa  got  rid 
of  them  after  an  hour  and  more  of  this  talk.  The  lawyer 
and  Farmer  Tester  went  away  grumbling  and  very  angry 
to  the  Red  Lion.  I  was  very  anxious  to  hear  how  the 
matter  ended ;  so  I  sent  after  the  constable  to  ask  him 
to  come  back  and  see  me  when  he  had  settled  it  all,  and 
about  nine  o'clock  he  came.  He  had  had  a  very  hard  job 
to  get  Harry  Winburn  to  take  the  money,  and  give  up  the 
tally.  The  men  said  that  if  Farmer  Tester  could  make 
them  pay  half  a  crown  for  a  pig  in  his  turnips,  which 
were  no  bigger  than  radishes,  he  ought  to  pay  ten  shil- 
lings at  least  for  his  pony  trampling  down  their  corn, 
which  was  half  grown  ;  and  I  couldn't  help  thinking  this 
seemed  very  reasonable.  In  the  end,  however,  the  con- 
stable had  persuaded  them  to  take  the  money,  and  so  the 
pony  was  let  out. 

"  I  told  him  how  pleased  I  was  at  the  way  he  had  be- 
haved, but  the  little  man  didn't  seem  quite  satisfied  him- 
self. He  should  have  liked  to  have  given  the  lawyer  a 
piece  more  of  his  mind,  he  said,  only  he  was  no  scholar ; 
'  but  I've  a  got  all  the  feelin's  of  a  man,  miss,  though  J. 
9 


98  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

mecTnt  have  the  ways  o'  bringin'  on  'em  out.'  You  see  I 
am  quite  coming  round  to  your  opinion  about  him.  But 
when  I  said  that  I  hoped  all  the  trouble  was  over,  he 
shook  his  head,  and  he  seems  to  think  that  the  men  will  not 
forget  it,  and  that  some  of  the  wild  ones  will  be  trying  to 
pay  Farmer  Tester  out  in  the  winter  nights,  and  I  could 
see  he  was  very  anxious  about  Harry  Winburn ;  so  I 
promised  him  to  go  and  see  Betty. 

"  I  went  down  to  her  cottage  yesterday,  and  found  her 
very  low,  poor  old  soul,  about  her  son.  She  has  had  a 
bad  attack  again,  and  I  am  afraid  her  heart  is  not  right. 
She  will  not  live  long  if  she  has  much  to  make  her  anx- 
ious, and  how  is  that  to  be  avoided  ?  For  her  son's  court- 
ing is  all  going  wrong,  she  can  see,  though  he  will  not  tell 
her  any  thing  about  it ;  but  he  gets  more  moody  and  rest- 
less, she  says,  and  don't  take  a  pride  in  any  thing,  not  even 
in  his  flowers  or  his  allotment ;  and  he  takes  to  going 
about,  more  and  more  every  day,  with  these  men,  who  will 
be  sure  to  lead  him  into  trouble. 

"  After  I  left  her,  I  walked  up  to  the  Hawk's  Lynch,  to 
see  whether  the  view  and  the  air  would  not  do  me  good ; 
and  it  did  do  me  a  great  deal  of  good,  dear,  and  I  thought 
of  you,  and  when  I  should  see  your  bright  face  and  hear 
your  happy  laugh  again.  The  village  looked  so  pretty 
and  peaceful,  I  could  hardly  believe,  while  I  was  up  there, 
that  there  were  all  these  miserable  quarrels  and  heart- 
burnings going  on  in  it.  I  suppose  they  go  on  everywhere, 
but  one  can't  help  feeling  as  if  there  was  something  spe- 
cially hard  in  those  which  come  under  one's  own  eyes,  and 
touch  one's  self.  And  then  they  are  so  frivolous,  and  every 
thing  might  go  on  so  comfortably  if  people  would  only  be 
reasonable.  I  ought  to  have  been  a  man,  I  am  su»e,  and 
then  I  might,  perhaps,  be  able  to  do  more,  and  should  have 
more  influence      If  poor  papa  were  only  well  and  strong  J 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  99 

"  But,  dear,  I  shall  tire  you  with  all  these  long  histories 
and  complainings.  I  have  run  on  till  I  have  no  room  left 
for  any  thing  else  ;  but  you  can't  think  what  a  comfort  it 
is  to  me  to  write  it  all  to  you,  for  I  have  no  one  to  tell  it 
to.  I  feel  so  much  better,  and  more  cheerful  since  I  sat 
down  to  write  this.  You  must  give  my  dear  love  to  uncle 
and  aunt,  and  let  me  hear  from  you  again  whenever  you 
have  time.  If  you  could  come  over  again  and  stay  for  a 
few  days  it  would  be  very  kind ;  but  I  must  not  press  it, 
as  there  is  nothing  to  attract  you  here,  only  we  might  talk 
over  all  that  we  did  and  saw  at  Oxford. 

"Ever,  dearest  Mary,  your  very  affectionate  cousin, 

"  Katie. 

"  P.S.  —  I  should  like  to  have  the  pattern  of  the  jacket 
you  wore  the  last  day  at  Oxford.  Could  you  cut  it  out  in 
thin  paper,  and  send  it  in  your  next  ?  " 

July  — ,  18  4-. 

"  My  dear  Brown,  —  I  was  very  glad  to  see  your 
hand,  and  to  hear  such  flourishing  accounts  of  your  vaca- 
tion doings.  You  wont  get  any  like  announcement  out 
of  me,  for  cricket  has  not  yet  come  so  far  west  as  this,  at 
least  not  to  settle.  We  have  a  few  pioneers  and  squatters 
in  the  villages ;  but,  I  am  sorry  to  say,  nothing  yet  like 
matches  between  the  elevens  of  districts.  Neighbors  we 
have  none,  except  the  rector ;  so  I  have  plenty  of  spare 
time,  some  of  which  I  feel  greatly  disposed  to  devote  to 
you  ;  and  I  hope  you  wont  find  me  too  tedious  to  read. 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  your  father  to  wish  that  you  should 
be  my  first  pupil,  and  to  propose  that  I  should  spend  the 
last  month  of  this  vacation  with  you  in  Berkshire.  But  I 
do  not  like  to  give  up  a  whole  month.  My  lather  is  get- 
ting old  and  infirm,  and  I  can  see  that  it  would  be  a  great 
trial  to  him,  although  he  urges  it,  and  is  always  telling  me 


100  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

not  to  let  him  keep  me  at  home.  What  do  you  say  to 
meeting  me  half-way  ?  I  mean,  that  you  should  come 
here  for  half  of  the  time,  and  then  that  I  should  return 
with  you  for  the  last  fortnight  of  the  vacation.  This  I 
could  manage  perfectly. 

"  But  you  cannot  in  any  case  be  my  first  pupil ;  for,  not 
to  mention  that  I  have  been,  as  you  know,  teaching  for 
some  years,  I  have  a  pupil  here  at  this  minute.  You  are 
not  likely  to  guess  who  it  is,  though  you  know  him  well 
enough,  —  perhaps  I  should  say  too  well,  —  so,  in  a  word, 
it  is  Blake.  I  had  not  been  at  home  three  days  before  I 
got  a  letter  from  him,  asking  me  to  take  him,  and  putting 
it  in  such  a  way  that  I  couldn't  refuse.  I  would  sooner 
not  have  had  him,  as  I  had  already  got  out  of  taking  a 
reading  party  with  some  trouble,  and  felt  inclined  to  enjoy 
myself  here  in  dignified  idleness  till  next  term.  But  what 
can  you  do  when  a  man  puts  it  to  you  as  a  great  personal 
favor,  etc.,  etc.  ?  So  I  wrote  to  accept.  You  may  im- 
agine my  disgust  a  day  or  two  afterwards,  at  getting  a  let- 
ter from  an  uncle  of  his,  some  official  person  in  London 
apparently,  treating  the  whole  matter  in  a  business  point 
of  view,  and  me  as  if  I  were  a  training  groom.  He  is 
good  enough  to  suggest  a  stimulant  to  me  in  the  shape  of 
extra  pay  and  his  future  patronage  in  the  event  of  his 
nephew's  taking  a  first  in  Michaelmas  term.  If  I  had 
received  this  letter  before,  I  think  it  would  have  turned 
the  scale,  and  I  should  have  refused.  But  the  thing  was 
done,  and  Blake  isn't  fairly  responsible  for  his  relative's 
views.  "  So  here  he  has  been  for  a  fortnight.  He  took 
a  lodging  in  the  village  at  first ;  but  of  course  my  dear 
old  father's  ideas  of  hospitality  were  shocked  at  this,  and 
here  he  is,  our  inmate. 

"  He  reads  fiercely  by  fits  and  starts.     A  feeling  of  per- 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  101 

sonal  hatred  against  the  examiners  seems  to  urge  him  on 
more  than  any  other  motive ;  but  this  will  not  be  strong 
enough  to  keep  him  to  regular  work,  and  without  regular 
work  he  wont  do,  notwithstanding  all  his  cleverness,  and 
he  is  a  marvellously  clever  fellow.  So  the  first  thing  I 
have  to  do  is  to  get  him  steadily  to  the  collar,  and  how  to 
do  it  is  a  pretty  particular  puzzle.  For  he  hasn't  a  grain 
of  enthusiasm  in  his  composition,  nor  any  power,  as  far  as 
I  can  see,  of  throwing  himself  into  the  times  and  scenes 
of  which  he  is  reading.  The  philosophy  of  Greece  and 
the  history  of  Rome  are  matters  of  perfect  indifference  to 
him  —  to  be  got  up  by  catch-words  and  dates  for  exam- 
ination, and  nothing  more.  I  don't  think  he  would  care 
a  straw  if  Socrates  had  never  lived,  or  Hannibal  had  de- 
stroyed Rome.  The  greatest  names  and  deeds  of  the  Old 
World  are  just  so  many  dead  counters  to  him  —  the  Jew- 
ish just  as  much  as  the  rest.  I  tried  him  with  the  story 
of  the  attempt  of  Antiochus  Epiphanes  to  conquer  the 
Jews,  and  the  glorious  rising  of  all  that  was  living  in  the 
Holy  Land  under  the  Maccabees.  Not  a  bit  of  it ;  I 
couldn't  get  a  spark  out  of  him.  He  wouldn't  even  read 
the  story,  because  it  is  in  the  Apocrypha,  and  so,  as  he 
said,  the  d — d  examiners  couldn't  ask  him  any  tiling  about 
it  in  the  schools. 

"  Then  his  sense  of  duty  is  quite  undeveloped.  He  has 
no  notion  of  going  on  doing  any  thing  disagreeable  because 
he  ought.  So  here  I  am  at  fault  again.  Ambition  he  has 
in  abundance ;  in  fact,  so  strongly,  that  very  likely  it  may 
in  the  end  pull  him  through,  and  make  him  work  hard 
enough  for  his  Oxford  purposes  at  any  rate.  But  it  wants 
repressing  rather  than  encouragement,  and  I  certainly 
sha'n't  appeal  to  it. 

"  You  will  begin  to  think  I  dislike  him  and  want  to  get 
9* 


102  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

rid  of  him,  but  it  isn't  the  case.  You  know  what  a  good 
temper  he  has,  and  how  remarkably  well  he  talks ;  so  he 
makes  himself  very  pleasant,  and  my  father  evidently  en- 
joys his  company  ;  and  then  to  be  in  constant  intercourse 
with  a  subtle  intellect  like  his,  is  pleasantly  exciting,  and 
keeps  one  alive  and  at  high  pressure,  though  one  can't  help 
always  wishing  that  it  had  a  little  heat  in  it.  You  would 
be  immensely  amused  if  you  could  drop  in  on  us. 

"  I  think  I  have  told  you,  or  you  must  have  seen  it  for 
yourself,  that  my  fathei''s  principles  are  true  blue,  as  be- 
comes a  sailor  of  the  time  of  the  great  war,  while  his  in- 
stincts and  practice  are  liberal  in  the  extreme.  Our 
rector,  on  the  contrary,  is  liberal  in  principles,  but  an 
aristocrat  of  the  aristocrats  in  instinct  and  practice.  They 
are  always  ready  enough  therefore  to  do  battle,  and  Blake 
delights  in  the  war,  and  fans  it  and  takes  part  in  it  as  a 
sort  of  free  lance,  laying  little  logical  pit-falls  for  the 
combatants  alternately,  with  that  deferential  manner  of 
his.  He  gets  some  sort  of  intellectual  pleasure,  I  sup- 
pose, out  of  seeing  where  they  ought  to  tumble  in ;  for 
tumble  in  they  don't,  but  clear  his  pit-falls  in  their  stride, 
—  at  least  my  father  does,  —  quite  innocent  of  having 
neglected  to  distribute  his  middle  term  ;  and  the  rector,  if 
he  has  some  inkling  of  these  traps,  brushes  them  aside, 
and  disdains  to  spend  powder  on  any  one  but  his  old  ad- 
versary and  friend.  I  employ  myself  in  trying  to  come 
down  ruthlessly  on  Blake  himself;  and  so  we  spend  our 
evenings  after  dinner,  which  comes  off  at  the  primitive 
hour  of  five.  "We  used  to  dine  at  three,  but  my  father 
lias  conformed  now  to  college  hours.  If  the  rector  does 
not  come,  instead  of  argumentative  talk,  Ave  get  stories 
out  of  my  father.  In  the  mornings  we  bathe  and  boat 
and  read.     So,  you   see,  he  and   I  have  plenty  of   one 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  103 

another's  company,  and  it  is  certainly  odd  that  we  get  on 
so  well  with  so  very  few  points  of  sympathy.  But,  luckily, 
besides  his  good  temper  and  cleverness,  he  has  plenty  of 
humor.  On  the  whole,  I  think  we  shall  rub  through  the 
two  months  which  he  is  to  spend  here  without  getting  to 
hate  one  another,  though  there  is  little  chance  of  our  be- 
coming friends.  Besides  putting  some  history  and  science 
into  him  (scholarship  he  does  not  need),  I  shall  be  satis- 
fied if  I  can  make  him  give  up  his  use  of  the  pronoun 
'you'  before  he  goes.  In  talking  of  the  corn  laws,  or 
foreign  policy,  or  India,  or  any  other  political  subject, 
however  interesting,  he  never  will  identify  himself  as  an 
Englishman;  and  '■you  do  this,'  or  ' you  expect  that,' is 
forever  in  his  mouth,  speaking  of  his  own  countrymen. 
I  believe  if  the  French  were  to  land  to-morrow  on  Port- 
land, he  would  comment  on  our  attempts  to  dislodge 
them  as  if  he  had  no  concern  with  the  business,  except  as 
a  looker-on. 

"  You  will  think  all  this  a  rather  slow  return  for  your 
jolly,  gossiping  letter,  full  of  cricket,  archery,  fishing,  and 
I  know  not  what  pleasant  goings-on.  But  what  is  one  to 
do  ?  one  can  only  write  about  what  is  one's  subject  of  in- 
terest for  the  time  being,  and  Blake  stands  in  that  rela- 
tion to  me  just  now.  I  should  prefer  it  otherwise,  but  si 
on  n'a  jhis  ce  qiCon  aime  ilfaut  aimer  ce  qu'on  a.  I  have 
no  incident  to  relate  ;  these  parts  get  on  without  incidents 
somehow,  and  without  society.  I  wish  there  were  some, 
particularly  ladies'  society.  I  break  the  tenth  command- 
ment constantly,  thinking  of  Commemoration,  and  that 
you  are  within  a  ride  of  Miss  Winter  and  her  cousin. 
When  you  sec  them  next,  pray  present  my  respectful 
compliments.  It  is  a  sort  of  consolation  to  think  that  one 
may  cross  their  fancy  for  a  moment  and  be  remembered 


104  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

as  part  of  a  picture  which  gives  them  pleasure.  With 
which  piece  of  sentiment  I  may  as  well  shut  up.  Don't 
you  forget  my  message  now,  and — 

"  Believe  me,  ever  yours  most  truly, 

"John  Hardy. 

"  P.S.  I  mean  to  speak  to  Blake,  when  I  get  a  chance, 
of  that  wretched  debt  which  you  have  paid,  unless  you 
object.  I  should  think  better  of  him  if  he  seemed  more 
uncomfortable  about  his  affairs.  After  all  he  may  be 
more  so  than  I  think,  for  he  is  very  reserved  on  such  sub- 
jects." 

"Englebourn  Rectory, 
"July,  184-. 
*'  Dearest  Mary,  —  I  send  the  coachman  with  this 
note,  in  order  that  you  may  not  be  anxious  about  me.  I 
have  just  returned  from  poor  Betty  Winburn's  cottage  to 
write  it.  She  is  very,  very  ill,  and  I  do  not  think  can  last 
out  more  than  a  day  or  two ;  and  she  seems  to  cling  to  me 
so  that  I  cannot  have  the  heart  to  leave  her.  Indeed,  if  I 
could  make  up  my  mind  to  do  it,  I  should  never  get  her 
poor,  white  eager  face  out  of  my  head  all  day,  so  that  I 
should  be  very  bad  company  and  quite  out  of  place  at  your 
party,  making  everybody  melancholy  and  uncomfortable 
who  came  near  me.  So,  dear,  I  am  not  coming.  Of 
course,  it  is  a  great  disappointment.  I  had  set  my  heart 
on  being  with  you,  and  enjoying  it  all  thoroughly  ;  and 
even  at  breakfast  this  morning  knew  of  nothing  to  hinder 
me.  My  dress  is  actually  lying  on  the  bed  at  this  minute, 
and  it  looks  very  pretty,  especially  the  jacket  like  yours, 
which  I  and  Hopkins  have  managpd  to  make  up  from  the 
pattern  you  sent,  though  you  forgot  the  sleeves,   which 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  105 

made  it  rather  hard  to  do.  Ah,  well !  it  is  of  no  use  to 
think  of  how  pleasant  things  would  have  been  which  one 
cannot  have.  You  must  write  me  an  account  of  how  it 
all  went  off,  dear ;  or  perhaps  you  can  manage  to  get  over 
here  before  long  to  tell  me. 

"  I  must  now  go  back  to  poor  Betty.  She  is  such  a 
faithful,  patient  old  thing,  and  has  been  such  a  good 
woman  all  her  life  that  there  is  nothing  painful  in  being 
by  her  now,  and  one  feels  sure  that  it  will  be  much  hap- 
pier and  better  for  her  to  be  at  rest.  If  she  could  only 
feel  comfortable  about  her  son  I  am  sure  she  would  think 
so  herself.  Oh,  I  forgot  to  say  that  her  attack  was  brought 
on  by  the  shock  of  hearing  that  he  had  been  summoned  for 
an  assault.  Farmer  Tester's  son,  a  young  man  of  about 
his  own  age,  has,  it  seems,  been  of  late  waylaying  Simon's 
daughter  and  making  love  to  her.  It  is  so  very  hard  to 
make  out  the  truth  in  matters  of  this  kind.  Hopkins 
says  she  is  a  dressed-up  little  minx  who  runs  after  all  the 
young  men  in  the  parish  ;  but  really,  from  what  I  see  and 
hear  from  other  persons,  I  think  she  is  a  good  girl  enough. 
Even  Betty,  who  looks  on  her  as  the  cause  of  most  of  her 
own  trouble,  has  never  said  a  word  to  make  me  think  that 
she  is  at  all  a  light  person,  or  more  fond  of  admiration 
than  any  other  good-looking  girl  in  the  parish. 

"But  those  Testers  are  a  very  wicked  set.  You  can- 
not think  what  a  misfortune  it  is  in  a  place  like  this  to 
have  these  rich  families  with  estates  of  their  own,  in 
which  the  young  men  begin  to  think  themselves  beyond 
the  common  farmers.  They  ape  the  gentlemen,  and  give 
themselves  great  airs,  but  of  course  no  gentleman  will  as- 
sociate with  them,  as  they  are  quite  uneducated  ;  and  the 
consequence  is  that  they  live  a  great  deal  at  home,  and 
give  themselves  up    to   all   kinds   of  wickedness.     This 


106  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFOKD. 

young  Tester  is  one  of  these.  His  father  is  a  very  bad 
old  man,  and  does  a  great  deal  of  harm  here  ;  and  the  son 
is  following  in  his  steps,  and  is  quite  as  bad,  or  worse. 
So  you  see  I  shall  not  easily  believe  that  Harry  Winburn 
has  been  much  in  the  wrong.  However,  all  I  know  of  it 
at  present  is  that  young  Tester  was  beaten  by  Harry  yes- 
terday evening  in  the  village  street,  and  that  they  came 
to  papa  at  once  for  a  summons. 

"  Oh,  here  is  the  coachman  ready  to  start ;  so  I  must 
conclude,  dear,  and  go  back  to  my  patient.  I  shall  often 
think  of  you  during  the  day.  I  am  sure  you  will  have  a 
charming  party.  With  best  love  to  all,  believe  me,  ever, 
dearest, 

"  Your  most  affectionate 

"  Katie. 

"  P.S. —  I  am  very  glad  that  uncle  and  aunt  take  to 
Tom,  and  that  he  is  staying  with  you  for  some  days.  You 
will  find  him  very  useful  in  making  the  party  go  off  well, 
I  am  sure." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

AMUSEMENTS  AT  BARTON  MANOR. 

"  A  letter,  miss,  from  Englebourn,"  said  a  footman, 
coming  up  to  Mary  with  the  note  given  at  the  end  of  the 
last  chapter  on  a  waiter.  She  took  it  and  tore  it  open  ; 
and,  while  she  is  reading  it,  the  reader  may  be  introduced 
to  the  place  and  company  in  which  we  find  her.  The 
scene  is  a  large  old-fashioned  square  brick  house,  backed 
by  fine  trees,  in  the  tops  of  which  the  rooks  live,  and  the 
jackdaws  and  starlings  in  the  many  holes  which  time  has 
worn  in  the  old  trunks  ;  but  they  are  all  away  on  this 
fine  summer  morning,  seeking  their  meal  and  enjoying 
themselves  in  the  neighboring  fields.  In  front  of  the  house 
is  a  pretty  flower-garden,  separated  by  a  haw-haw  from  a 
large  pasture,  sloping  southwards  gently  down  to  a  brook, 
which  glides  along  through  water-cress  and  willow  beds 
to  join  the  Kennet.  The  beasts  have  all  been  driven  off, 
and  on  the  upper  part  of  the  field,  nearest  the  house,  two 
men  are  fixing  up  a  third  pair  of  targets  on  the  rich  short 
grass.  A  large  tent  is  pitched  near  the  archery-ground, 
to  hold  quivers  and  bow-cases,  and  luncheon,  and  to  shel- 
ter lookers-on  from  the  midday  sun.  Beyond  the  brook 
a  pleasant,  well-timbered  country  lies,  with  high  chalk- 
downs  for  an  horizon,  ending  in  Marlborough  hill,  faint 
and  blue  in  the  west.  This  is  the  place  which  Mary's 
father  has  taken  for  the  summer  and  autumn,  and  where 
she  is  fast  becoming  the  pet  of  the  neighborhood. 

It  will  not  perhaps  surprise  readers  to '  find  that  our 


108  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

hero  has  managed  to  find  his  way  to  Barton  Manor  in  the 
second  week  of  the  vacation,  and,  having  made  the  most 
of  his  opportunities,  is  acknowledged  as  a  cousin  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Porter.  Their  boys  are  at  home  for  the  holi- 
days, and  Mr.  Porter's  great  wish  is  that  they  should  get 
used  to  the  country  in  their  summer  holidays.  And  as 
they  have  spent  most  of  their  childhood  and  boyhood  in 
London,  to  which  he  has  been  tied  pretty  closely  hitherto, 
this  is  a  great  opportunity.  The  boys  only  wanted  a  pre- 
ceptor, and  Tom  presented  himself  at  the  right  moment, 
and  soon  became  the  hero  of  Charley  and  Neddy  Porter. 
He  taught  them  to  throw  flies  and  bait  crawfish  nets,  to 
bat  fowl,  and  ferret  for  rabbits,  and  to  saddle  and  ride 
their  ponies,  besides  getting  up  games  of  cricket  in  the 
spare  evenings,  which  kept  him  away  from  Mr.  Porter's 
dinner-table.  This  last  piece  of  self-denial,  as  he  consid- 
ered it,  quite  won  over  that  gentleman,  who  agreed  with 
his  wife  that  Tom  was  just  the  sort  of  companion  they 
would  like  for  the  boys,  and  so  the  house  was  thrown 
open  to  him. 

The  boys  were  always  clamoring  for  him  when  he  was 
away,  and  making  their  mother  write  off  to  press  him  to 
come  again  ;  which  he,  being  a  very  good-natured  young 
man,  and  particularly  fond  of  boys,  was  ready  enough  to 
do.     So  this  was  the  third  visit  he  had  paid  in  a  month. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  wondered  a  little  that  he  should 
be  so  very  fond  of  the  young  Porters,  who  were  good 
boys  enough,  but  very  much  like  other  boys  of  thirteen 
and  fifteen,  of  whom  there  were  several  in  the  neighbor- 
hood. He  had  indeed  just  mentioned  an  elder  sister,  but 
so  casually  that  their  attention  had  not  been  drawn  to  the 
fact,  which  had  almost  slipped  out  of  their  memories.  On 
the  other  hand,  Tom  seemed  so  completely  to  identify  him- 
self with  the  boys  and  their  pursuits,  that  it  never  occurred 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  109 

to  their  father  and  mother,  who  were  doatingly  fond  of 
them,  that,  after  all,  they  might  not  be  the  only  attraction. 
Mary  seemed  to  take  very  little  notice  of  him,  and  went  on 
with  her  own  pursuits  much  as  usual.  It  was  true  that  she 
liked  keeping  the  score  at  cricket,  and  coming  to  look  at 
them  fishing  or  rabbiting  in  her  walks  ;  but  all  that  was 
very  natural.  It  is  a  curious  and  merciful  dispensation 
of  Providence  that  most  fathers  and  mothers  seem  never 
to  be  capable  of  remembering  their  own  experience,  and 
will  probably  go  on  till  the  end  of  time  thinking  of  their 
sons  of  twenty  and  daughters  of  sixteen  or  seventeen  as 
mere  children,  who  may  be  allowed  to  run  about  together 
as  much  as  they  please.  And,  where  it  is  otherwise,  the 
results  are  not  very  different,  for  there  are  certain  myste- 
rious ways  of  holding  intercourse  implanted  in  the  youth 
of  both  sexes,  against  which  no  vigilance  can  avail. 

So  on  this,  her  great  fete  day,  Tom  had  been  helping 
Mary  all  the  morning  in  dressing  the  rooms  with  flowers, 
and  arranging  all  the  details  —  where  people  were  to  sit 
at  the  cold  dinner ;  how  to  find  the  proper  number  of 
seats ;  how  the  dining-room  was  to  be  cleared  in  time  for 
dancing  when  the  dew  began  to  fall.  In  all  which  mat- 
ters there  were  many  obvious  occasions  for  those  petits 
soins  which  are  much  valued  by  persons  in  like  situations ; 
and  Tom  was  not  sorry  that  the  boys  had  voted  the  whole 
preparations  a  bore,  and  had  gone  off  to  the  brook  to 
gropple  in  the  bank  for  crawfish  till  the  shooting  began. 
The  arrival  of  the  note  had  been  the  first  contre-temps  of 
the  morning,  and  they  were  now  expecting  guests  to  ar- 
rive every  minute. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  No  bad  news,  I  hope,"  he  said, 
seeing  her  vexed  expression. 

u  Why,  Katie  can't  come.  I  declare  I  could  sit  down 
10 


110  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

and  cry.  I  sha'n't  enjoy  the  party  a  bit  now,  and  I  wish 
it  were  all  over." 

"  I  am  sure  Katie  would  be  very  unhappy  if  she  thought 
you  were  going  to  spoil  your  day's  pleasure  on  her  ac- 
count." 

"  Yes,  I  know  she  would ;  but  it  is  so  provoking  when 
I  had  looked  forward  so  to  having  her." 

"  You  have  never  told  me  why  she  cannot  come ;  she 
was  quite  full  of  it  all  when  I  saw  her  a  few  days  back." 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  poor  old  woman  in  the  village  dying 
who  is  a  great  friend  of  Katie's.  Here  is  her  letter ;  let 
me  see,"  she  said,  glancing  over  it  to  see  that  there  was 
nothing  in  it  which  she  did  not  wish  him  to  read,  "  you 
may  read  it,  if  you  like." 

Tom  began  reading.  "  Betty  Winburn,"  he  said,  when 
he  came  to  the  name,  "  what,  poor  dear  old  Betty !  why, 
I've  known  her  ever  since  I  was  born.  She  used  to  live 
in  our  parish,  and  I  haven't  seen  her  this  eight  years 
nearly.  And  her  boy  Harry,  I  wonder  what  has  become 
of  him  ?  " 

"  You  will  see  if  you  read  on,"  said  Mary ;  and  so  he 
read  to  the  end,  and  then  folded  it  up  and  returned  it. 

"  So  poor  old  Betty  is  dying.  Well,  she  was  always  a 
good  soul,  and  very  kind  to  me  when  I  was  a  boy.  I 
should  like  to  see  her  once  again,  and  perhaps  I  might  be 
able  to  do  something  for  her  son." 

"  Why  should  we  not  ride  over  to  Englebourn  to-mor- 
row ?  They  will  be  glad  to  get  us  out  of  the  way  while 
the  house  is  being  straightened." 

"  I  should  like  it  of  all  things,  if  it  can  be  managed." 

"  Oh,  I  will  manage  it  somehow,  for  I  must  go  and  see 
that  dear  Katie.  I  do  feel  so  ashamed  of  myself  when  I 
think  of  all  the  good  she  is  doing,  and  I  do  nothing  but 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  Ill 


put  flowers  about,  and  play  the  piano.     Isn't  she  an  angel 


now 


"  Of  course  she  is." 

"  Yes ;  but  I  wont  have  that  sort  of  matter-of-course 
acquiescence.  Now,  do  you  really  mean  that  Katie  is  as 
good  as  an  angel  ?  " 

"  As  seriously  as  if  I  saw  the  wings  growing  out  of  her 
shoulders,  and  dewdrops  hanging  on  them." 

"  You  deserve  to  have  some  things  not  at  all  like  wings 
growing  out  of  your  head.  How  is  it  that  you  never  see 
when  I  don't  want  you  to  talk  your  nonsense  ?  " 

"  How  am  I  to  talk  sense  about  angels  ?  I  don't  know 
any  thing  about  them." 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  perfectly.  I  say  that  dear 
Katie  is  an  angel,  and  I  mean  that  I  don't  know  any  thing 
in  her  —  no,  not  one  single  thing  —  which  I  should  like 
to  have  changed.  If  the  angels  are  all  as  good  as 
she  —  " 

"  If!  why  I  shall  begin  to  doubt  your  orthodoxy." 

"  You  don't  know  what  I  was  going  to  say." 

"  It  doesn't  matter  what  you  were  going  to  say.  You 
couldn't  have  brought  that  sentence  round  to  an  orthodox 
conclusion.  Oh,  please  don't  look  angry,  now.  Yes,  I 
quite  see  what  you  mean.  You  can  think  of  Katie  just 
as  she  is  now  in  heaven,  without  being  shocked." 

Mary  paused  for  a  moment  before  she  answered,  as  if 
she  were  rather  taken  by  surprise  at  this  way  of  putting 
her  meaning,  and  then  said  seriously,  — 

"  Indeed,  I  can.  I  think  we  should  all  be  perfectly 
happy  if  we  were  all  as  good  as  she  is." 

"  But  she  is  not  very  happy  herself,  I  am  afraid." 

"  Of  course  not ;  how  can  she  be,  when  all  the  people 
about  her  are  so  troublesome  and  selfish  ?  " 


112  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  can't  fancy  an  angel  the  least  like  Uncle  Robeit; 
can  you  ?  " 

"  I  wont  talk  about  angels  any  more.  You  have  made 
me  feel  quite  as  if  I  had  been  saying  something  wicked." 

"  Now  really,  it  is  too  hard  that  you  should  lay  the 
blame  on  me,  when  you  began  the  subject  yourself.  You 
ought  at  least  to  let  me  say  what  I  have  to  say  about  an- 
gels." 

"  Why,  you  said  you  knew  nothing  about  them  half  a 
minute  ago." 

"  But  I  may  have  my  notions  like  other  people.  You 
have  your  notions.     Katie  is  your  angel." 

"  Well,  then,  what  are  your  notions  ?  " 

"  Katie  is  rather  too  dark  for  my  idea  of  an  angel.  I 
can't  fancy  a  dark  angel." 

"  Why,  how  can  you  call  Katie  dark  ?  " 

"  I  only  say  she  is  too  dark  for  my  idea  of  an  angel." 

"  Well,  go  on." 

"  Then,  she  is  rather  too  grave." 

"  Too  grave  for  an  angel ! " 

"  For  my  idea  of  an  angel  —  one  doesn't  want  one's 
angel  to  be  like  one's  self,  and  I  am  so  grave,  you  know." 

"  Yes,  very.  Then  your  angel  is  to  be  a  laughing 
angel.  A  laughing  angel,  and  yet  very  sensible ;  never 
talking  nonsense  ?  " 

"  Oh,  I  didn't  say  that." 

"  But  you  said  he  wasn't  to  be  like  you." 

" He !  who  in  the  world  do  you  mean  by  he?" 

"  Why,  your  angel,  of  course." 

"  My  angel !  You  don't  really  suppose  that  my  angel 
is  to  be  a  man  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  time  to  think  about  it.  Look,  they  are  put- 
ting those  targets  quite  crooked.  You  are  responsible  for 
the  targets ;  we  must  go  and  get  them  straight." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  113 

They  walked  across  the  ground  towards  the  targets,  and 
Tom  settled  them  according  to  his  notions  of  opposites. 

"  After  all,  archery  is  slow  work,"  he  said,  when  the 
targets  were  settled  satisfactorily.  "  I  don't  believe  any- 
body really  enjoys  it." 

"Now  that  is  because  you  men  haven't  it  all  to  your- 
selves. You  are  jealous  of  any  sort  of  game  in  which  we 
c;in  join.     I  believe  you  are  afraid  of  being  beaten." 

"  On  the  contrary,  that  is  its  only  recommendation,  that 
you  can  join  in  it." 

"Well,  I  think  that  ought  to  be  recommendation 
enough.  But  I  believe  it  is  much  harder  than  most  of 
jour  games.  You  can't  shoot  half  as  well  as  you  play 
cricket ;  can  you  ?  " 

"  No,  because  I  never  practise.  It  isn't  exciting  to  be 
walking  up  and  down  between  two  targets,  and  doing  the 
same  thing  over  and  over  again.  Why,  you  don't  find  it 
so  yourself.     You  hardly  ever  shoot." 

"  Indeed  I  do,  though,  constantly." 

"  Why,  I  have  scarcely  ever  seen  you  shooting." 

"  That  is  because  you  are  away  with  the  boys  all  day." 

"  Oh,  I  am  never  too  far  to  know  what  is  going  on.  I'm 
sure  you  have  never  practised  for  more  than  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  any  day  that  I  have  been  here." 

"  Well,  perhaps  I  may  not  have.  But  I  tell  you  I  am 
very  fond  of  it." 

Here  the  two  boys  came  up  from  the  brook,  Neddy  with 
his  Scotch  cap  full  of  cray-fish. 

"  Why,  you  wretched  boys,  where  you  been  ?  You  are 
not  fit  to  be  seen,"  said  Mary,  shaking  the  arrows  at  them, 
which  she  was  carrying  in  her  hand.  "  Go  and  dress  di- 
rectly, or  you  will  be  late.  I  think  I  heard  a  carriage 
drive  up  just  now." 

"  Oh,  there's  plenty  of  time.  Look  what  whackers, 
10* 


114  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

Cousin  Tom,"  said  Charley,  holding  out  one  of  his  prizes 
by  its  back  towards  Tom,  while  the  indignant  cray-fish 
flapped  its  tail  and  worked  about  with  its  claws  in  the 
hopes  of  getting  hold  of  something  to  pinch. 

"  I  don't  believe  those  boys  have  been  dry  for  two 
hours  together  in  daylight  since  you  first  came  here,"  said 
Mary  to  Tom. 

"  Well,  and  they're  all  the  better  for  it,  I'm  sure,"  said 
Tom. 

"  Yes,  that  we  are,"  said  Charley. 

"  I  say,  Charley,"  said  Tom,  "  your  sister  says  she  is 
very  fond  of  shooting." 

"  Ay,  and  so  she  is.  And  isn't  she  a  good  shot  too  ? 
I  believe  she  would  beat  you  at  fifty  yards." 

"  There  now,  you  see,  you  need  not  have  been  so  unbe- 
lieving," said  Mary. 

"  Will  you  give  her  a  shot  at  your  new  hat,  Cousin 
Tom  ?  "  said  Neddy. 

"  Yes,  Neddy,  that  I  will ; "  and  he  added  to  Mary,  "  I 
will  bet  you  a  pair  of  gloves  you  do  not  hit  it  in  three 
shots." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Mary,  "  at  thirty  yards  ?  " 

"  No,  no !  fifty  yards  was  the  named  distance." 

"  No,  fifty  yards  is  too  far.  Why,  your  hat  is  not  big- 
ger than  the  gold." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  splitting  the  difference  ;  we  will 
say  forty." 

"  Very  well — three  shots  at  forty  yards." 

"  Yes  ;  here,  Charley,  run  and  hang  my  hat  on  that 
target."  The  boys  rushed  off  with  the  hat — a  new  white 
one — and  hung  it  with  a  bit  of  string  over  the  centre  of 
one  of  the  targets,  and  then,  stepping  a  little  aside,  stood, 
clapping  their  hands,  shouting  to  Mary  to  take  good  aim. 

"  You  must  string  my  bow,"  she  said,  handing  it  to  him 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD,  115 

as  she  buckled  on  her  guard.  "  Now,  do  you  repent  ? 
I  am  going  to  do  my  best,  mind,  if  I  do  shoot." 

"  I  scorn  repentance  :  do  your  worst,"  said  Tom,  string- 
ing the  bow  and  handing  it  back  to  her.  "  And  now  I 
will  hold  your  arrows  ;  here  is  the  forty  yards." 

Mary  came  to  the  place  which  he  had  stepped,  her  eyes 
full  of  fun  and  mischief;  and  he  saw  at  once  that  she 
knew  what  she  was  about  as  she  took  her  position  and 
drew  the  first  arrow.  It  missed  the  hat  by  some  three 
inches  only,  and  the  boys  clapped  and  shouted. 

"  Too  near  to  be  pleasant,"  said  Tom,  handing  the  sec- 
ond arrow.     "  I  see  you  can  shoot." 

"  Well,  I  will  let  you  off  still." 

"Gloves  and  all?" 

"  No,  of  course  you  must  pay  the  gloves." 

"  Shoot  away  then.  Ah,  that  will  do,"  he  cried,  as  the 
second  arrow  struck  considerably  above  the  hat,  "  I  shall 
get  my  gloves  yet,"  and  he  handed  the  third  arrow.  They 
were  too  intent  on  the  business  in  hand  to  observe  that 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter  and  several  guests  were  already  on 
the  hand  bridge  which  crossed  the  haw-haw. 

Mary  drew  her  third  arrow,  paused  a  moment,  loosed 
it,  and  this  time  with  fatal  aim. 

The  boys  rushed  to  the  target,  towards  which  Mary 
and  Tom  also  hurried,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter  and  the  new- 
comers following  more  quietly. 

"  Oli,  look  here — what  fun,"  said  Charley,  as  Tom  came 
up,  holding  up  the  hat  spiked  on  the  arrow  which  he  had 
drawn  out  of  the  target. 

"  "What  a  wicked  shot,"  he  said,  taking  the  hat  and  turn- 
ing to  Mary.  "  Look  here,  you  have  actually  gone  through 
three  places — through  crown,  and  side,  and  brim." 

Mary  began  to  feel  quite  sorry  at  her  own  success,  and 
looked  at  the  wounded  hat  sorrowfully. 


116  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Hullo,  look  here — here's  papa  and  mamma  and  some 
people,  and  we  aint  dressed  !  Come  along,  Neddy,"  and 
the  hoys  made  away  towards  the  back  premises,  while 
Mary  and  Tom,  turning  round  found  themselves  in  the 
presence  of  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter,  Mr.  Brown,  and  two  or 
three  other  guests. 


CHAPTER  Vm. 


BEHIND    THE    SCENES. 


Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  had  a  long  way  to  drive  home 
that  evening,  including  some  eight  miles  of  very  indif- 
ferent chalky  road  over  the  downs,  which  separate  the 
Vale  of  Kennet  from  the  Vale  of  White  Horse.  Mr. 
Brown  was  an  early  man,  and  careful  of  his  horses,  who 
responded  to  his  care  by  being  always  well  up  to  much 
more  work  than  they  were  ever  put  to.  The  drive  to 
Barton  Manor  and  back  in  a  day  was  a  rare  event  in 
their  lives.  Their  master,  taking  this  fact  into  consider- 
ation, was  bent  on  giving  them  plenty  of  time  for  the  re- 
turn journey,  and  had  ordered  his  groom  to  be  ready  to 
start  by  eight  o'clock ;  but,  that  they  might  not  disturb 
the  rest  by  their  early  departure,  he  had  sent  the  carriage 
to  the  village  inn  instead  of  to  the  Porters'  stables. 

At  the  appointed  time,  therefore,  and  when  the  even- 
ing's amusements  were  just  beginning  at  the  manor  house, 
Mr.  Brown  sought  out  his  wife ;  and,  after  a  few  words 
of  leave-taking  to  their  host  and  hostess,  the  two  slipped 
quietly  away,  and  walked  down  the  village.  The  car- 
riage was  standing  before  the  inn  all  ready  for  them,  with 
the  hostler  and  Mr.  Brown's  groom  at  the  horses'  heads. 
The  carriage  was  a  high  phaeton  having  a  roomy  front 
seat  with  a  hood  to  it,  specially  devised  by  Mr.  Brown 
with  a  view  to  his  wife's  comfort,  and  that  he  might  with 
a  good  conscience  enjoy  at  the  same  time  the  pleasures 
of  her  society  and  of  driving  his   own   horses.     When 


118  TOM   CROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

once  in  her  place  Mrs.  Brown  was  as  comfortable  as  she 
would  have  been  in  the  most  luxurious  barouche  with  C 
springs,  but  the  ascent  was  certainly  rather  a  drawback. 
The  pleasure  of  sitting  by  her  husband  and  of  receiving 
his  assiduous  help  in  the  preliminary  climb,  however, 
more  than  compensated  to  Mrs.  Brown  for  this  little  in- 
convenience. 

Mr.  Brown  helped  her  up  as  usual,  and  arranged  a 
plaid  carefully  over  her  knees,  the  weather  being  too  hot 
for  the  apron.  He  then  proceeded  to  walk  round  the 
horses,  patting  them,  examining  the  bits,  and  making  in- 
quiries as  to  how  they  had  fed  :  and,  having  satisfied  him- 
self on  these  points,  and  feed  the  hostler,  took  the  reins, 
seated  himself  by  his  wife,  and  started  at  a  steady  pace 
towards  the  hills  at  the  back  of  Barton  village. 

For  a  minute  or  two  neither  spoke,  Mr.  Brown  being 
engrossed  with  his  horses  and  she  with  her  thoughts. 
Presently,  however,  he  turned  to  her,  and,  having  ascer- 
tained that  she  was  quite  comfortable,  went  on,  — 

"  Well,  my  dear,  what  do  you  think  of  them  ?  "  . 

"Oh,  I  think  they  are  agreeable  people,"  answered 
Mrs.  Brown ;  "  but  one  can  scarcely  judge  from  seeing 
them  to-day.  It  is  too  far  for  a  drive ;  we  shall  not  be 
heme  till  midnight." 

"But  I  am  very  glad  we  came.  After  all  they  are 
connections  through  poor  Bobert,  and  he  seems  anxious 
that  they  should  start  well  in  the  county.  Why,  he  has 
actually  written  twice,  you  know  about  our  coming  to-day. 
We  must  try  to  show  them  some  civility." 

"  It  is  impossible  to  come  so  far  often,"  Mrs.  Brown 
persisted. 

"  It  is  too  far  for  ordinary  visiting.  What  do  you  say 
to  asking  them  to  come  and  spend  a  day  or  two  with 
us?" 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  119 

"  Certainly,  my  dear,  if  you  wish  it,"  answered  Mrs. 
Brown,  but  without  much  cordiality  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  I  should  like  it ;  and  it  will  please  Robert  so 
much.  We  might  have  him  and  Katie  over  to  meet 
them,  don't  you  think  ?  " 

"  Let  me  see,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  with  much  more  alac- 
rity, "  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter  will  have  the  best  bedroom 
and  dressing-room ;  Robert  must  have  the  south  room, 
and  Katie  the  chintz.  Yes,  that  will  do ;  I  can  manage 
it  very  well." 

"  And  their  daughter  ;  you  have  forgotten  her." 

"  "Well,  you  see,  dear,  there  is  no  more  room." 

"  Why,  there  is  the  dressing-room,  next  to  the  south 
i-oom,  with  a  bed  in  it.  I'm  sure  nobody  can  want  a  bet- 
ter room." 

"  You  know,  John,  that  Robert  cannot  sleep  if  there  is 
the  least  noise.  I  could  never  put  any  one  into  his  dress- 
ing-room ;  there  is  only  a  single  door  between  the  rooms, 
and,  even  if  they  made  no  noise,  the  fancy  that  some  one 
was  sleeping  there  would  keep  him  awake  all  night." 

"  Plague  take  his  fancies !  Robert  has  given  way  to 
them  till  he  is  fit  for  nothing.  But  you  can  put  him  in 
the  chintz  room,  and  give  the  two  girls  the  south  bedroom 
and  dressing-room." 

"  What,  put  Robert  in  a  room  which  looks  north  ?  My 
dear  John,  what  can  you  be  thinking  about  ?  " 

Mr.  Brown  uttered  an  impatient  grunt,  and,  as  a  vent 
to  his  feelings  more  decorous  on  the  whole  than  abusing 
his  brother-in-law,  drew  his  whip  more  smartly  than  usual 
across  the  backs  of  his  horses.  The  exertion  of  muscle 
necessary  to  reduce  those  astonished  animals  to  their  ac- 
customed steady  trot  restored  his  temper,  and  he  returned 
to  the  charge,  — 

"  I  suppose  we  must  manage   it  on  the   second  floor, 


120  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

then,  unless  you  could  get  a  bed  run  up  in  the  school- 
room." 

"  No,  dear ;  I  really  should  not  like  to  do  that  —  it 
would  be  so  very  inconvenient.  We  are  always  wanting 
the  room  for  workwomen  or  servants ;  besides,  I  keep  my 
account  books  and  other  things  there." 

"  Then  I'm  afraid  it  must  be  on  the  second  floor. 
Some  of  the  children  must  be  moved.  The  girl  seems 
a  nice  girl  with  no  nonsense  about  her,  and  wont  mind 
sleeping  up  there.     Or,  why  not  put  Katie  up-stairs  ?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  should  not  think  of  it.  Katie  is  a  dear 
good  girl,  and  I  will  not  put  any  one  over  her  head." 

"  Nor  I,  dear.  On  the  contrary,  I  was  asking  you  to 
put  her  over  another  person's  head,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 
laughing  at  his  own  joke.  This  unusual  reluctance  on 
the  part  of  his  wife  to  assist  in  carrying  out  any  hospi- 
table plans  of  his  began  to  strike  him ;  so,  not  being  an 
adept  at  concealing  his  thoughts,  or  gaining  his  point  by 
any  attack  except  a  direct  one,  after  driving  on  for  a 
minute  in  silence  he  turned  suddenly  on  his  wife,  and 
said,  — 

"  Why,  Lizzie,  you  seem  not  to  want  to  ask  the  girl." 

"  Well,  John,  I  do  not  see  the  need  of  it  at  all." 

"  No,  and  you  don't  want  to  ask  her." 

"  If  you  must  know,  then,  I  do  not." 

"  Don't  you  like  her  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know  her  well  enough  either  to  like  or  dis- 
like." 

"  Then,  why  not  ask  her,  and  see  what  she  is  like  ? 
But  the  truth  is,  Lizzie,  you  have  taken  a  prejudice 
against  her." 

"  Well,  John,  I  think  she  is  a  thoughtless  girl,  and  ex- 
travagant ;  not  the  sort  of  girl,  in  fact,  that  I  should  wish 
to  be  much  here." 


TOM    DROWN    AT    OXFORD.  121 

"  Thoughtless  and  extravagant !  "  said  Mr.  Brown, 
looking  grave ;  "  how  you  women  can  be  so  sharp  on  one 
another !  Her  dress  seemed  to  me  simple  and  pretty,  and 
her  manners  very  lady-like  and  pleasing." 

"  You  seem  to  have  quite  forgotten  about  Tom's  hat," 
said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"Tom's  white  hat  —  so  I  had,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  and 
he  relapsed  into  a  low  laugh  at  the  remembrance  of  the 
scene.     "  I  call  that  his  extravagance,  and  not  hers." 

"  It  was  a  new  hat,  and  a  very  expensive  one,  which 
he  had  bought  for  the  vacation,  and  it  is  quite  spoilt." 

"  Well,  my  dear ;  really,  if  Tom  will  let  girls  shoot  at 
his  hats,  he  must  take  the  consequences.  He  must  wear 
it  with  the  holes,  or  buy  another." 

"  How  can  he  afford  another,  John  ?  You  know  how 
poor  he  is." 

Mr.  Brown  drove  on  for  several  minutes  without 
speaking.  He  knew  perfectly  well  what  his  wife  was 
coming  to  now,  and,  after  weighing  in  his  mind  the  alter- 
natives of  accepting  battle  or  making  sail  and  changing 
the  subject  altogether,  said, — 

"  You  know,  my  dear,  he  has  brought  it  on  himself.  A 
headlong,  generous  sort  of  youngster,  like  Tom,  must  be 
taught  early  that  he  can't  have  his  cake  and  eat  his  cake. 
If  he  likes  to  lend  his  money,  he  must  find  out  that  he 
hasn't  it  to  spend." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  quite  agree  with  you.  But  £50  a  year 
is  a  great  deal  to  make  him  pay." 

"Not  a  bit  too  much,  Lizzie.  His  allowance  is  quite 
enough  without  it  to  keep  him  like  a  gentleman.  Be- 
sides, after  all,  he  gets  it  in  meal  or  in  malt ;  I  have  just 
paid  £25  for  his  gun." 

"  I  know  how  kind  and  liberal  you  are  to  him  ;  only  I 
am  so  afraid  of  his  getting  into  debt." 
11 


122  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  wonder  what  men  would  do,  if  they  hadn't  pomt? 
soft-hearted  woman  always  ready  to  take  their  parts  and 
pull  them  out  of  scrapes,"  said  Mr.  Brown.  "  Well,  dear, 
how  much  do  you  want  to  give  the  boy  ?  " 

"  Twenty-five  pounds,  just  for  this  year.  But  out  of 
my  own  allowance,  John." 

"  Nonsense  ! "  replied  Mr.  Brown  ;  "  you  want  your  al- 
lowance for  yourself  and  the  children." 

"  Indeed,  dear  John,  I  would  sooner  not  do  it  at  all 
then,  if  I  may  not  do  it  out  of  my  own  money." 

"  Well,  have  it  your  own  way.  I  believe  you  would 
always  look  well  dressed,  if  you  never  bought  another 
gown.  Then,  to  go  back  to  what  we  were  talking  about 
just  now  —  you  will  find  a  room  for  the  girl,  somehow  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear,  certainly,  as  I  see  you  are  bent  on  it." 

"  I  think  it  would  be  scarcely  civil  not  to  ask  her,  espe- 
cially if  Katie  comes.  And  I  own  I  think  her  very 
pretty,  and  have  taken  a  great  fancy  to  her." 

"  Isn't  it  odd  that  Tom  should  never  have  said  any 
thing  about  her  to  us  ?  He  has  talked  of  all  the  rest,  till 
I  knew  them  quite  well  before  I  went  there." 

"  No ;  it  seems  to  me  the  most  natural  thing  in  the 
world." 

"  Yes,  dear,  very  natural.  But  I  can't  help  wishing  he 
had  talked  about  her  more ;  I  should  think  it  less  danger- 
ous." 

"  Oh,  you  think  Master  Tom  is  in  love  with  her,  eh  ?  " 
said  Mr.  Brown,  laughing. 

"  More  unlikely  things  have  happened.  You  take  it 
very  easily,  John." 

"  Well,  we  have  all  been  boys  and  girls,  Lizzie.  The 
world  hasn't  altered  much,  I  suppose,  since  I  used  to  get 
up  at  five  on  winter  mornings,  to  ride  some  twenty  miles 
to  cover,  on   the  chance  of  meeting  a  young  lady  on  a 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  123 

gray  pony.  I  remember  how  my  poor  dear  old  father 
used  to  wonder  at  it,  when  our  hounds  met  close  by,  in  a 
better  country.  I'm  afraid  I  forgot  to  tell  him  what  a 
pretty  creature  '  Gipsey '  was,  and  how  well  she  was 
ridden." 

"  But  Tom  is  only  twenty,  and  he  must  go  into  a  pro- 
fession." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  much  too  young,  I  know  —  too  young  for 
any  thing  serious.  We  had  better  see  them  together, 
and  then,  if  there  is  any  thing  in  it,  we  can  keep  them 
apart.     There  cannot  be  much  the  matter  yet." 

"  Well,  dear,  if  you  are  satisfied,  I  am  sure  I  am." 

And  so  the  conversation  turned  on  other  subjects,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  enjoyed  their  moonlight  drive  home 
through  the  delicious  summer  night,  and  were  quite  sorry 
when  the  groom  got  down  from  the  hind-seat  to  open  their 
own  gates  at  half-past  twelve. 

About  the  same  time,  the  festivities  at  Barton  Manor 
were  coming  to  a  close.  There  had  been  cold  dinner  in 
the  tent  at  six,  after  the  great  match  of  the  day ;  and, 
after  dinner,  the  announcement  of  the  scores,  and  the  dis- 
tribution of  prizes  to  the  winners.  A  certain  amount  of 
toasts  and  speechifying  followed,  which  the  ladies  sat 
through  with  the  most  exemplary  appearance  of  being 
amused.  When  their  healths  had  been  proposed  and  ac- 
knowledged, they  retired,  and  were  soon  followed  by  the 
younger  portion  of  the  male  sex  ;  and,  while  the  J.  P.'s 
and  clergymen  sat  quietly  at  tiieir  wine,  which  Mr.  Por- 
ter took  care  should  be  remarkably  good,  and  their  wives 
went  in  to  look  over  the  house  and  have  tea,  their  sons 
and  daughters  split  up  into  groups,  and  some  shot  handi- 
caps, and  some  walked  about  and  flirted,  and  some  played 
at  bowls  or  lawn  billiards.  And  soon  the  band  appeared 
again  from  the    servants'    hall,    mightily   refreshed,   and 


124  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

dancing  began  on  the  grass,  and  in  due  time  was  trans- 
ferred to  the  tent,  when  the  grass  got  damp  with  the  night 
dew,  and  then  to  the  hall  of  the  house,  when  the  lighting 
of  the  tent  began  to  fail.  And  then  there  came  a  supper, 
extemporized  out  of  the  remains  of  the  dinner ;  after 
which  papas  and  mammas  began  to  look  at  their  watches, 
and  remonstrate  with  daughters,  coming  up  with  sparkling 
eyes  and  hair  a  little  shaken  out  of  place,  and  pleading 
for  "just  one  more  dance."  "You  have  been  going  on 
ever  since  one  o'clock,"  remonstrated  the  parents  ;  "  And 
are  ready  to  go  on  till  one  the  next  day,"  replied  the  chil- 
dren. By  degrees,  however,  the  frequent  sound  of  wheels 
were  heard,  and  the  dancers  got  thinner  and  thinner,  till, 
for  the  last  half-hour,  some  half-dozen  couples  of  young 
people  danced  an  interminable  reel,  while  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Porter,  and  a  few  of  the  most  good-natured  matrons  of 
the  neighborhood  looked  on.  Soon  after  midnight  the 
band  struck ;  no  amount  of  negus  could  get  any  thing 
more  out  of  them  but  "  God  save  the  Queen,"  which  they 
accordingly  played  and  departed  ;  and  then  came  the  final 
cloaking  and  driving  off  of  the  last  guests.  Tom  and 
Mary  saw  the  last  of  them  into  their  carriage  at  the  hall- 
door,  and  lingered  a  moment  in  the  porch. 

"  What  a  lovely  night !  "  said  Mary.  "  How  I  hate  go- 
ing to  bed !  " 

"  It  is  a  dreadful  bore,"  answered  Tom  ;  "  but  here  is 
the  butler  waiting  to  shut  up ;  we  must  go  in." 

"  I  wonder  where  papa  and  mamma  are." 

"  Oh,  they  are  only  seeing  things  put  a  little  to  rights. 
Let  us  sit  here  till  they  come ;  they  must  pass  by  to  get 
to  their  rooms." 

So  the  two  sat  down  on  some  hall  chairs. 

"  Oli,  dear  !  I  wish  it  were  all  coming  over  again  to-mor- 
row," said  Tom,  leaning  back,  and   looking  up  at  the  ceil- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  -  125 

ing.    "  By  the  way,  remember  I  owe  you  a  pair  of  gloves  t 
what  color  shall  they  be  ?  " 

"  Any  color  you  like.  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  it.  I 
felt  so  dreadfully  ashamed  when  they  all  came  up,  and 
your  mother  looked  so  grave ;  I  am  sure  she  was  very 
angry." 

"  Poor  mother,  she  was  thinking  of  my  hat  with  three 
arrow  holes  in  it." 

"  Well,  I  am  very  sorry,  because  I  wanted  them  to 
like  me." 

"  And  so  they  will ;  I  should  like  to  know  who  can 
help  it." 

"  Now,  I  wont  have  any  of  your  nonsensical  compli- 
ments.    Do  you  think  they  enjoyed  the  day?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  they  did.  My  father  said  he  had 
never  liked  an  archery  meeting  so  much." 

"  But  they  went  away  so  early." 

"  They  had  a  very  long  drive,  you  know.  Let  me 
see,"  he  said,  feeling  in  his  breast-pocket,  "  mother  left 
me  a  note,  and  I  have  never  looked  at  it  till  now."  He 
took  a  slip  of  paper  out  and  read  it,  and  his  face  fell. 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  said  Mary,  leaning  forward. 

"Oh,  nothing;  only  I  must  go  to-morrow  morning." 

"  There,  I  was  sure  she  was  angry." 

"  No,  no ;  it  was  written  this  morning  before  she  came 
here.     I  can  tell  by  the  paper." 

"  But  she  will  not  let  you  stay  here  a  day,  you  see." 

"  I  have  been  here  a  good  deal,  considering  all  things. 
I  should  like  never  to  go  away." 

"  Perhaps  papa  might  find  a  place  for  you,  if  you  asked 
him.  Which  should  you  like, — to  be  tutor  to  the  boys, 
or  gamekeeper  ?  " 

"  On  the  whole,  I  should  prefer  the  tutorship  at  pres- 
ent ;  you  take  so  much  interest  in  the  boys." 
11* 


126  TOM   BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Yes,  because  they  have  no  one  to  look  after  them  now 
in  the  holidays.  But,  when  you  come  as  tutor,  I  shall 
wash  my  hands  of  them." 

"  Then  I  shall  decline  the  situation." 

"  How  are  you  going  home  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  I  shall  ride  round  by  Englebourn.  They  wish  me  to 
go  round  and  see  Katie  and  Uncle  Robert.  You  talked 
about  riding  over  there  yourself  this  morning." 

"  I  should  like  it  so  much.  But  how  can  we  manage 
it  ?     I  can't  ride  back  by  myself." 

"  Couldn't  you  stay  and  sleep  there  ?  " 

"  I  will  ask  mamma.  No,  I  am  afraid  it  can  hardly  be 
managed;"  and  so  saying,  Mary  leant  back  in  her  chair,  and 
began  to  pull  to  pieces  some  flowers  she  held  in  her  hand. 

"  Don't  pull  them  to  pieces  ;  give  them  to  me,"  said 
Tom.  "  I  have  kept  the  rosebud  you  gave  me  at  Ox- 
ford, folded  up  in  —  " 

"  Which  you  took,  you  mean  to  say.  No,  I  wont  give 
you  any  of  them  —  or,  let  me  see  —  yes,  here  is  a  sprig 
of  lavender ;  you  may  have  that." 

"  Thank  you.     But  why  lavender  ?  " 

"  Lavender  stands  for  sincerity.  It  will  remind  you 
of  the  lecture  you  gave  me." 

"  I  wish  you  would  forget  that.  But  you  know  what 
flowers  mean,  then  ?  Do  give  me  a  lecture :  you  owe  me 
one.  What  do  those  flowers  mean  which  you  will  not 
give  me,  —  the  piece  of  heather,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Heather  signifies  constancy." 

"  And  the  carnations  ?  " 

"  Jealousy." 

"  And  the  heliotrope  ?  " 

"  Oh,  never  mind  the  heliotrope." 

"  But  it  is  such  a  favorite  of  mine.  Do  tell  me  what  it 
means  ?  " 

"  Je  vous  aime"  said  Mary,  with  a  laugh,  and  a  slight 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  127 

blush ;  "  it  is  all  nonsense.  Oh,  here's  mamma  at  last," 
and  she  jumped  up  and  went  to  meet  her  mother,  who 
came  out  of  the  drawing-room,  candle  in  hand. 

"  My  dear  Mary,  I  thought  you  were  gone  to  bed," 
said  Mrs.  Porter,  looking  from  one  to  the  other,  seriously. 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  the  least  tired,  and  I  couldn't  go  without 
wishing  you  and  papa  good-night,  and  thanking  you  for 
all  the  trouble  you  have  taken." 

"  Indeed,  we  ought  all  to  thank  you,"  said  Tom  ;  "  every- 
body said  it  was  the  pleasantest  party  they  had  ever  been 
at." 

"  I  am  very  glad  it  went  off  well,"  said  Mrs.  Porter, 
gravely ;  "  and  now,  Mary,  you  must  go  to  bed." 

"  I  am  afraid  I  must  leave  you  to-morrow  morning," 
said  Tom. 

"  Yes  ;  Mrs.  Brown  said  they  expect  you  at  home  to- 
morrow." 

"  I  am  to  ride  round  by  Uncle  Robert's ;  would  you 
like  one  of  the  boys  to  go  with  me?  " 

"  O  dear  mamma,  could  not  Charley  and  I  ride  over 
to  Englebourn  ?     I  do  so  long  to  see  Katie." 

"  No,  dear ;  it  is  much  too  far  for  you.  We  will  drive 
over  in  a  few  days'  time." 

And,  so  saying,  Mrs.  Porter  wished  Tom  good-night, 
and  led  off  her  daughter. 

Tom  went  slowly  up-stairs  to  his  room,  and,  after  pack- 
ing his  portmanteau  for  the  carrier  to  take  in  the  morn- 
ing, threw  up  his  window  and  leant  out  into  the  night,  and 
watched  the  light  clouds  swimming  over  the  moon,  and 
the  silver  mist  folding  the  water  meadows  and  willows  in 
its  soft,  cool  mantle.  His  thoughts  were  such  as  will  occur 
to  any  reader  who  has  passed  the  witching  age  of  twenty  ; 
and  the  scent  of  the  heliotrope-bed,  in  the  flower-garden 
below,  seemed  to  rise  very  strongly  on  the  night  air. 


CHAPTER  IX. 


A    CRISIS. 


In  the  forenoon  of  the  following  day  Tom  rode  slowly 
along  the  street  of  Englebourn  towards  the  rectory  gate. 
He  had  left  Barton  soon  after  breakfast,  without  having 
been  able  to  exchange  a  word  with  Mary  except  in  the 
presence  of  her  mother,  and  yet  he  had  felt  more  anxious 
than  ever  before  at  least  to  say  good-by  to  her  without 
witnesses.  With  this  view  he  had  been  up  early,  and 
had  whistled  a  tune  in  the  hall,  and  held  a  loud  conversa- 
tion with  the  boys,  who  appeared  half-dressed  in  the  gal- 
lery above,  while  he  brushed  the  dilapidated  white  hat, 
to  let  all  whom  it  might  concern  know  that  he  was  on  the 
move.  Then  he  had  walked  up  and  down  the  garden  in 
full  view  of  the  windows  till  the  bell  rang  for  prayers. 
He  was  in  the  breakfast-room  before  the  bell  had  done 
ringing,  and  Mrs.  Porter,  followed  by  her  daughter,  en- 
tered at  the  same  moment.  He  could  not  help  fancying 
that  the  conversation  at  breakfast  was  a  little  constrained, 
and  particularly  remarked  that  nothing  was  said  by  the 
heads  of  the  family  when  the  boys  vociferously  bewailed 
his  approaching  departure,  and  tried  to  get  him  to  name 
some  day  for  his  return  before  their  holidays  ended.  In- 
stead of  encouraging  the  idea,  Mrs.  Porter  reminded  Neddy 
and  Charley  that  they  had  only  ten  days  more,  and  had 
not  yet  looked  at  the  work  they  had  to  do  for  their  tutor 
in  the  holidays.  Immediately  after  breakfast  Mrs.  Porter 
wished  him  good-by  herself  very  kindly,  but  (he  could  not 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  129 

help  thinking)  without  that  air  of  near  relationship  which, 
he  had  flattered  himself  was  well  established  between 
himself  and  all  the  members  of  the  Porter  family ;  and 
then  she  had  added,  "  Now,  Mary,  you  must  say  good-by ; 
I  want  you  to  come  and  help  me  with  some  work  this 
morning."  He  had  scarcely  looked  at  her  all  the  morn- 
ing, and  now  one  shake  of  the  hand  and  she  was  sph'ited 
away  in  a  moment,  and  he  was  left  standing,  dissatisfied 
and  uncomfortable,  with  a  sense  of  incompleteness  in  his 
mind,  and  as  if  he  had  had  a  thread  in  his  life  suddenly 
broken  off  which  he  could  not  tell  how  to  get  joined  again. 
However,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to  get  off.  He 
had  no  excuse  for  delay,  and  had  a  long  ride  before  him  ; 
so  he  and  the  boys  went  round  to  the  stable.  On  their 
passage  through  the  garden  the  idea  of  picking  a  nosegay 
and  sending  it  to  her  by  one  of  the  boys  came  into  his 
head.  He  gathered  the  flowers,  but  then  thought  better 
of  it,  and  threw  them  away.  What  right,  after  all,  had 
he  to  be  sending  flowers  to  her — above  all,  flowers  to 
which  they  had  attached  a  meaning,  jokingly  it  was  true, 
but  still  a  meaning  ?  No,  he  had  no  right  to  do  it ;  it 
would  not  be  fair  to  her,  or  her  father  and  mother,  after 
the  kind  way  in  which  they  had  all  received  him.  So  he 
threw  away  the  flowers,  and  mounted  and  rode  off,  watched 
by  the  boys,  who  waved  their  straw  hats  as  he  looked  back 
just  before  coming  to  a  turn  in  the  road  which  would  take 
him  out  of  sight  of  the  Manor  House.  He  rode  along  at 
a  foot's  pace  for  some  time,  thinking  over  the  events  of 
the  past  week ;  and  then,  beginning  to  feel  purposeless, 
and  somewhat  melancholy,  urged  his  horse  into  a  smart  trot 
along  the  waste  land  which  skirted  the  road.  But,  go 
what  pace  he  would,  it  mattered  not ;  he  could  not  leave 
his  thoughts  behind.  So  he  pulled  up  again  after  a  mile 
or  so,  slackened  his  reins,  and,  leaving  his  horse  to  pick 


130  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

his  own  way  along  the  road,  betook  himself  to  the  serious 
consideration  of  his  position. 

The  more  he  thought  of  it  the  more  discontented  he 
became,  and  the  day  clouded  over  as  if  to  suit  his  temper. 
He  felt  as  if  within  the  last  twenty-four  hours  he  had  been 
somehow  unwarrantably  interfered  with.  His  mother  and 
Mrs.  Porter  had  both  been  planning  something  about  him, 
he  felt  sure.  If  they  had  any  thing  to  say,  why  couldn't 
they  say  it  out  to  him  ?  But  what  could  there  be  to  say  ? 
Couldn't  he  and  Mary  be  trusted  together  without  making 
fools  of  themselves  ?  He  did  not  stop  to  analyze  his  feel- 
ings towards  her,  or  to  consider  whether  it  was  very  pru- 
dent or  desirable  for  her  that  they  should  be  thrown  so 
constantly  and  unreservedly  together.  He  was  too  much 
taken  up  with  what  he  chose  to  consider  his  own  wrongs 
for  any  such  consideration.  "Why  can't  they  let  me 
alone  ?  "  was  the  question  which  he  asked  himself  perpet- 
ually, and  it  seemed  to  him  the  most  reasonable  one  in  the 
world,  and  that  no  satisfactory  answer  was  possible  to  it, 
except  that  he  ought  to  be,  and  should  be,  let  alone.  And 
so  at  last  he  rode  along  Englebourn  Street,  convinced  that 
what  he  had  to  do  before  all  other  things  just  now  was  to 
assert  himself  properly,  and  show  every  one,  even  his  own 
mother,  that  he  was  no  longer  a  boy  to  be  managed  ac- 
cording to  any  one's  fancies  except  his  own. 

He  rode  straight  to  the  stables  and  loosed  the  girths  of 
his  horse  and  gave  particular  directions  about  grooming 
and  feeding  him,  and  stayed  in  the  stall  for  some  minutes 
rubbing  his  ears  and  fondling  him.  The  antagonism  which 
possessed  him  for  the  moment  against  mankind  perhaps 
made  him  appreciate  the  value  of  his  relations  with  a  well- 
trained  beast.  Then  he  went  round  to  the  house  and  in- 
quired for  his  uncle.  He  had  not  been  in  Englebourn  for 
6ome  years,  and  the  servant  did  not  know  him,  and  an- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  131 

swered  that  Mr.  "Winter  was  not  out  of  his  room  and  never 
saw  strangers  till  the  afternoon.  Where  was  Miss  Win- 
ter then  ?  She  was  down  the  village  at  Widow  Win- 
burn's,  and  he  couldn't  tell  when  she  would  be  back,  the 
man  said.  The  contents  of  Katie's  note  of  the  day  before 
had  gone  out  of  his  head,  but  the  mention  of  Betty's  name 
recalled  them,  and  with  them  something  of  the  kindly  feel- 
ing which  he  had  had  on  hearing  of  her  illness.  So,  say- 
ing he  would  call  later  to  see  his  uncle,  he  started  again 
to  find  the  widow's  cottage,  and  his  cousin. 

The  servant  had  directed  him  to  the  last  house  in  the 
village,  but,  when  he  got  outside  the  gate,  there  were 
houses  in  two  directions.  He  looked  about  for  some  one 
from  whom  to  inquire  further,  and  his  eye  fell  upon  our 
old  acquaintance,  the  constable,  coming  out  of  his  door 
with  a  parcel  under  his  arm. 

The  little  man  was  in  a  brown  study,  and  did  not  notice 
Tom's  first  address.  He  was,  in  fact,  anxiously  thinking 
over  his  old  friend's  illness  and  her  son's  trouble ;  and  was 
on  his  way  to  Farmer  Grove's,  having  luckily  the  excuse 
of  taking  a  coat  to  be  tried  on,  in  the  hopes  of  getting 
him  to  interfere  and  patch  up  the  quarrel  between  young 
Tester  and  Harry. 

Tom's  first  salute  had  been  friendly  enough ;  no  one 
knew  better  how  to  speak  to  the  poor,  amongst  whom  he 
had  lived  all  his  life,  than  he.  But,  not  getting  any  an- 
swer, and  being  in  a  touchy  state  of  mind,  he  was  put  out, 
and  shouted,  — 

"  Hullo,  my  man,  can't  you  hear  me  ?  " 

"  Ees,  I  beant  dunch,"  replied  the  constable,  turning 
and  looking  at  his  questioner., 

"  I  thought  you  were,  for  I  spoke  loud  enough  before. 
Which  is  Mrs.  Winburn's  cottage  ?  " 

"  The  furdest  house  down  ther,"  he  said,  pointing,  "  'tis 


132  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

in  ray  way  if  you've  a  mind  to  come."  Tom  accepted  the 
offer  and  walked  along  by  the  constable. 

"  Mrs.  Winburn  is  ill,  isn't  she  ?  "  he  asked,  after  look- 
ing his  guide  over. 

"  Ees,  her  be  —  terreble  bad,"  said  the  constable. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  her,  do  you  know  ?  " 

"  Zummat  o'  fits,  I  hears.  Her've  had  em  this  six 
year,  on  and  off." 

"  I  suppose  it's  dangerous.  I  mean,  she  isn't  likely  to 
get  well  ?  " 

"  'Tis  in  the  Lord's  hands,"  replied  the  constable,  "  but 
her's  that  bad  wi'  pain,  at  times,  'twould  be  a  mussy  if 
'twould  plaase  he  to  tak  her  out  on't." 

"  Perhaps  she  mightn't  think  so,"  said  Tom,  supercil- 
iously ;  he  was  not  in  the  mind  to  agree  with  any  one. 
The  constable  looked  at  him  solemnly  for  a  moment  and 
then  said,  — 

"  Her's  been  a  God-fearin'  woman  from  her  youth  up, 
and  her's  had  a  deal  o'  trouble.  Thaay  as  the  Lord  lov- 
eth  he  chasteneth,  and  'tisn't  such  as  thaay  as  is  afeard  to 
go  afore  him." 

"  Well,  I  never  found  that  having  troubles  made  people 
a  bit  more  anxious  to  get  '  out  on't/  as  you  call  it,"  said 
Tom. 

"  It  don't  seem  to  me  as  you  can  'a  had  much  o'  trouble 
to  judge  by,"  said  the  constable,  who  was  beginning  to  be 
nettled  by  Tom's  manner. 

"  How  can  you  tell  that  ?  " 

"  Leastways  'twould  be  whoam-made,  then,"  persisted 
the  constable,  "  and  ther's  a  sight  o'  odds  atween  whoam- 
made  troubles  and  thaay  as.  the  Lord  sends." 

"  So  there  may  be ;  but  I  may  have  seen  both  sorts  for 
any  thing  you  can  tell." 

"  Nay,  nay ;  the  Lord's  troubles  leaves  his  marks." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  133 

"  And  you  don't  see  any  of  them  in  my  face,  eh  ?  " 

The  constable  jerked  his  head  after  his  own  peculiar 
fashion,  but  declined  to  reply  directly  to  this  interroga- 
tory.    He  parried  it  by  one  of  his  own. 

"  In  the  doctorin'  line,  make  so  bould  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Tom.  "  You  don't  seem  to  have  such  very 
good  eyes,  after  all." 

"  Oh,  I  seed  you  wasn't  old  enough  to  be  doin'  for  your- 
self, like ;  but  I  thought  you  med  ha'  been  a  'sistant,  or 
summat." 

"  Well,  then,  you're  just  mistaken,"  said  Tom,  consider- 
ably disgusted  at  being  taken  for  a  country  doctor's  assist- 
ant. 

"  I  ax  your  pardon,"  said  the  constable.  u  But  if  you 
beant  in  the  doctorin'  line,  what  be  gwine  to  Widow  Win- 
burn's  for,  make  so  bould  ?  " 

"  That's  my  look-out,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom,  almost  an- 
grily. "  That's  the  house,  isn't  it  ? "  and  he  pointed  to 
the  cottage  already  described  at  the  corner  of  Engle- 
bourn  Copse. 

"  Ees." 

"  Good-day,  then." 

"  Good-day,"  muttered  the  constable,  not  at  all  satislied 
with  this  abrupt  close  of  the  conversation,  but  too  un- 
ready to  prolong  it.  He  went  on  his  own  way  slowly, 
looking  back  often,  till  he  saw  the  door  open ;  after  which 
he  seemed  better  satisfied,  and  ambled  out  of  sight. 

"  The  old  snuffler ! "  thought  Tom,  as  he  strode  up  to 
the  cottage  door  —  "a  ranter,  I'll  be  bound,  with  his 
'  Lord's  troubles,'  and  '  Lord's  hands,'  and  '  Lord's  marks.' 
I  hope  Uncle  Robert  hasn't  many  such  in  the  parish." 

He  knocked  at  the  cottage  door,  and  in  a  few  seconds 
it  opened  gently,  and  Katie  slipped  out  with  her  finger  on 
12 


134  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

her  lips.  She  made  a  slight  gesture  of  surprise  at  seeing 
him,  and  held  out  her  hand. 

"  Hush ! "  she  said,  "  she  is  asleep.  You  are  not  in  a 
hurry  ?  " 

"  No,  not  particularly,"  he  answered,  abruptly ;  for 
there  was  something  in  her  voice  and  manner  which 
jarred  with  his  humor. 

"  Hush  !  "  she  said  again,  "  you  must  not  speak  so  loud. 
AVe  can  sit  down  here,  and  talk  quietly.  I  shall  hear  if 
she  moves." 

So  he  sat  down  opposite  to  her  in  the  little  porch  of 
the  cottage.  She  left  the  door  ajar,  so  that  she  might 
catch  the  least  movement  of  her  patient,  and  then  turned 
to  him  with  a  bright  smile,  and  said,  — 

"  Well,  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you !  What  good  wind 
blows  you  here  ?  " 

"  No  particularly  good  wind,  that  I  know  of.  Mary 
showed  me  your  letter  yesterday,  and  mother  wished  me 
to  come  round  here  on  my  way  home ;  and  so  here  I 
am." 

"  And  how  did  the  party  go  off  ?  I  long  to  hear  about 
it." 

"  Very  well ;  half  the  county  were  there,  and  it  was  all 
very  well  done." 

"  And  how  did  dear  Mary  look  ?  " 

"  Oh,  just  as  usual.  But  now,  Katie,  why  didn't  you 
come  ?     Mary  and  all  of  us  were  so  disappointed." 

"  I  thought  you  read  my  letter." 

"  Yes,  so  I  did." 

"  Then  you  know  the  reason." 

"  I  don't  call  it  a  reason.  Really,  you  have  no  right  to 
shut  yourself  up  from  every  thing.  You  will  be  getting 
moped  to  death." 

"But  do  I  look  moped?  "  she  said ;  and  he  looked  at 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  loO 

her,  and  couldn't  help  admitting  to  himself,  reluctantly, 
that  she  did  not.  So  he  re-opened  fire  from  another 
point. 

"  You  will  wear  yourself  out,  nursing  every  old  woman 
in  the  parish." 

"  But  I  don't  nurse  every  old  woman." 

"  Why,  there  is  no  one  here  but  you  to-day  now,"  he 
said,  with  a  motion  of  his  head  towards  the  cottage. 

"  No,  because  I  have  let  the  regular  nurse  go  home  for 
a  few  hours.  Besides,  this  is  a  special  case.  You  don't 
know  what  a  dear  old  soul  Betty  is." 

"  Yes,  I  do  ;  I  remember  her  ever  since  I  was  a  child." 

"  Ah,  I  forgot ;  I  have  often  heard  her  talk  of  you. 
Then  you  ought  not  to  be  surprised  at  any  thing  I  may 
do  for  her." 

"  She  is  a  good,  kind  old  woman,  I  know.  But  still  I 
must  say,  Katie,  you  ought  to  think  of  your  friends  and 
relations  a  little,  and  what  you  owe  to  society." 

"  Indeed,  I  do  think  of  my  friends  and  relations  very 
much,  and  I  should  have  liked,  of  all  things,  to  have  been 
with  you  yesterday.  You  ought  to  be  pitying  me,  instead 
of  scolding  me." 

"  My  dear  Katie,  you  know  I  didn't  mean  to  scold  you ; 
and  nobody  admires  the  way  you  give  yourself  up  to  vis- 
iting, and  all  that  sort  of  thing,  more  than  I ;  only  you 
ought  to  have  a  little  pleasure  sometimes.  People  have 
a  right  to  think  of  themselves  and  their  own  happiness  a 
little." 

"  Perhaps  I  don't  find  visiting,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing,  as  you  call  it,  so  very  miserable.  But  now,  Tom, 
you  saw  in  my  letter  that  poor  Betty's  son  has  got  into 
trouble  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  that  is  what  brought  on  her  attack,  you 
said  " 


136  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  believe  so.  She  was  in  a  sad  state  about  him  all 
yesterday,  —  so  painfully  eager  and  anxious.  She  is 
better  to-day ;  but  still  I  think  it  would  do  her  good  if 
you  would  see  her,  and  say  you  will  be  a  friend  to  her 
son.     Would  you  mind  ?  " 

"  It  was  just  what  I  wished  to  do  yesterday.  I  will  do 
all  I  can  for  him,  I'm  sure.  I  always  liked  him  as  a  boy ; 
you  can  tell  her  that.  But  I  don't  feel,  somehow,  to-day, 
at  least,  as  if  I  could  do  any  good  by  seeing  her." 

"  Oh,  why  not  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I'm  in  the  right  humor.  Is  she  very 
ill  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  ill  indeed ;  I  don't  think  she  can  recover." 

"  Well,  you  see,  Katie,  I'm  not  used  to  death-beds.  I 
shouldn't  say  the  right  sort  of  thing." 

"  How  do  you  mean  —  the  right  sort  of  thing  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you  know.  I  couldn't  talk  to  her  about  her  soul. 
I'm  not  fit  for  it,  and  it  isn't  my  place." 

"  No,  indeed,  it  isn't.  But  you  can  remind  her  of  old 
times,  and  say  a  kind  word  about  her  son." 

"  Very  well,  if  you  don't  think  I  shall  do  any  harm." 

"  I'm  sure  it  will  comfort  her.  And  now  tell  me  about 
yesterday." 

They  sat  talking  for  some  time  in  the  same  low  tone, 
and  Tom  began  to  forget  his  causes  of  quarrel  with  the 
world,  and  gave  an  account  of  the  archery  party  from  his 
own  point  of  view.  Katie  saw,  with  a  woman's  quick- 
ness, that  he  avoided  mentioning  Mary,  and  smiled  to 
herself,  and  drew  her  own  conclusions. 

At  last,  there  was  a  slight  movement  in  the  cottage, 
and,  laying  her  hand  on  his  arm,  she  got  up  quickly  and 
went  in.     In  a  few  minutes  she  came  to  the  door  again. 

"  How  is  she  ?  "  asked  Tom. 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  137 

"  Oil,  much  the  same ;  but  she  has  waked  without  pain, 
which  is  a  great  blessing.     Now,  are  you  ready  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  but  you  must  go  with  me." 

"  Come  in,  then."  She  turned,  and  he  followed  into  the 
cottage. 

Betty's  bed  had  been  moved  into  the  kitchen,  for  the 
sake  of  light  and  air.  Pie  glanced  at  the  corner  where  it 
stood  with  almost  a  feeling  of  awe,  as  he  followed  his 
cousin  on  tip-toe.  It  was  all  he  could  do  to  recognize  the 
pale,  drawn  face  which  lay  on  the  coarse  pillow.  The 
rush  of  old  memories  which  the  sight  called  up,  and  the 
thought  of  the  suffering  of  his  poor  old  friend,  touched  him 
deeply. 

Katie  went  to  the  bed-side,  and  stooping  down,  smoothed 
the  pillow,  and  placed  her  hand  for  a  moment  on  the  fore- 
head of  her  patient.  Then  she  looked  up,  and  beckoned 
to  him,  and  said,  in  her  low,  clear  voice,  — 

"  Betty,  here  is  an  old  friend  come  to  see  you ;  my 
cousin,  Squire  Brown's  son.  You  remember  him  quite  a 
little  boy." 

The  old  woman  moved  her  head  towards  the  voice  and 
smiled,  but  gave  no  further  sign  of  recognition.  Tom 
stole  across  the  floor,  and  sat  down  by  the  bed-side. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Betty,"  he  said,  leaning  towards  her  and  speak- 
ing softly,  "  you  must  remember  me.  Master  Tom,  — ■ 
who  used  to  come  to  your  cottage  on  baking  days  for  hot 
bread,  you  know." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  minds  un,  bless  his  little  heart,"  said 
the  old  woman  faintly.  "  Hev  he  come  to  see  poor 
Betty  ?  Do'ee  let  un  com,  and  lift  un  up  so  as  I  med  see 
un.     My  sight  be  getting  dimlike." 

"  Here  he  is,  Betty,"  said  Tom,  taking  her  hand  —  a 
hard-working  hand,  lying  there  with  the  skin  all  puckered 
12* 


138  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

from  long  and  daily  acquaintance  with  the  washing-tub  — 
"  I'm  Master  Tom." 

"  Ah,  dearee  me,"  she  said,  slowly,  looking  at  him  with 
lustreless  eyes.  "  Well,  you  be  growed  into  a  fine  young 
gentleman,  surely.  And  how's  the  Squire,  and  Madam 
Brown,  and  all  the  fam'ly  ?  " 

"  Oh,  very  well,  Betty,  —  they  will  be  so  sorry  to  hear 
of  your  illness." 

"  But  there  aint  no  hot  bread  for  un.  'Tis  ill  to  bake 
wi'  no  fuz  bushes,  and  bakers'  stuff  is  poor  for  hungry 
folk." 

"  I'm  within  three  months  as  old  as  your  Harry,  you 
know,"  said  Tom,  trying  to  lead  her  back  to  the  object  of 
his  visit. 

"  Harry,"  she  repeated,  and  then  collecting  herself  went 
on,  "  our  Harry  ?  where  is  he  ?  They  haven't  sent  un  to 
prison,  and  his  mother  a  dyin'  ?  " 

"  Oh,  no,  Betty ;  he  will  be  here  directly.  I  came  to 
ask  whether  there  is  any  thing  I  can  do  for  you." 

"  You'll  stand  by  un,  poor  buoy  —  our  Harry,  as  you 
used  to  play  wi'  when  you  was  little  —  'twas  they  as  ag- 
gravated un  so  as  he  couldn't  abear  it,  afore  ever  he'd  a 
struck  a  fly." 

"  Yes,  Betty ;  I  will  see  that  he  has  fair  play.  Don't 
trouble  about  that ;  it  will  be  all  right.  You  must  be 
quite  quiet,  and  not  trouble  yourself  about  any  thing,  that 
you  may  get  well  and  about  again." 

"  Nay,  nay,  Master  Tom.  I  be  gwine  whoam  ;  ees,  I 
be  gwine  whoam  to  my  maester,  Harry's  father  —  I  knows 
I  be  —  and  you'll  stand  by  un  when  I  be  gone  ;  and  Squire 
Brown'll  say  a  good  word  for  un  to  the  magistrates  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Betty,  that  he  will.  But  you  must  cheer  up,  and 
you'll  get  better  yet ;  don't  be  afraid." 

"  I  beant  afeard,  Master  Tom :  no,  bless  you.  I  beant 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  139 

afeard  but  what  the  Lord'll  be  mussiful  to  a  poor  lone 
woman  like  me,  as  has  had  a  sore  time  of  it  since  my 
maester  died,  wi'  a  hungry  boy  like  our  Harry  to  kep, 
back  and  belly  ;  and  the  rheumatics  terrible  bad  all  winter 
time." 

"  I'm  sure,  Betty,  you  have  done  your  duty  by  him,  and 
every  one  else." 

"  Dwontee  speak  o'  doin's,  Master  Tom.  'Tis  no  doin's 
o'  owrn  as'll  make  any  odds  where  I  be  gwine." 

Tom  did  not  know  what  to  answer ;  so  he  pressed  her 
hand  and  said, — 

"  "Well,  Betty,  I  am  very  glad  I  have  seen  you  once 
more ;  I  sha'n't  forget  it.  Harry  sha'n't  want  a  friend 
while  I  live." 

"  The  Lord  bless  you,  Master  Tom,  for  that  word,"  said 
the  dying  woman,  returning  the  pressure,  as  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears.  Katie,  who  had  been  watching  her  care- 
fully from  the  other  side  of  the  bed,  made  him  a  sign  to 
go. 

"  Good-by,  Betty,"  he  said ;  "  I  wont  forget,  you  may 
be  sure  ;  God  bless  you  ; "  and  then,  disengaging  his  hand 
gently,  went  out  again  into  the  porch,  where  he  sat  down 
to  wait  for  his  cousin. 

In  a  few  minutes  the  nurse  returned,  and  Katie  came 
out  of  the  cottage  soon  afterwards. 

"  Now  I  will  walk  up  home  with  you,"  she  said.  "You 
must  come  in  and  see  papa.  Well,  I'm  sure,  you  must  be 
glad  you  went  in.     Was  not  I  right?" 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  I  wish  I  could  have  said  something 
more  to  comfort  her." 

"  You  couldn't  have  said  more.  It  was  just  what  she 
wanted." 

"  But  where  is  her  son  ?  I  ought  to  see  him  before  I 
go-" 


140  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  He  has  gone  to  the  doctor's  for  some  medicine.  He 
will  be  back  soon." 

"  Well,  I  must  see  him ;  and  I  should  like  to  do  some- 
thing for  him  at  once.  I'm  not  very  flush  of  money,  but  I 
must  give  you  something  for  him.  You'll  take  it ;  I 
shouldn't  like  to  offer  it  to  him." 

"  I  hardly  think  he  wants  money ;  they  are  well  off 
now.  He  earns  good  wages,  and  Betty  has  done  her 
washing  up  to  this  week." 

"  Yes,  but  he  will  be  fined,  I  suppose,  for  this  assault ; 
and  then,  if  she  should  die,  there  will  be  the  funeral  ex- 
penses." 

"  Very  well ;  as  you  please,"  she  said ;  and  Tom  pro- 
ceeded to  hand  over  to  her  all  his  ready  money,  except  a 
shilling  or  two.  After  satisfying  his  mind  thus  he  looked 
at  her,  and  said,  — 

"  Do  you  know,  Katie,  I  don't  think  I  ever  saw  you  so 
happy  and  in  such  sph'its  ?  " 

"  There  now !  And  yet  you  began  talking  to  me  as  if 
I  were  looking  sad  enough  to  turn  all  the  beer  in  the  par- 
ish sour." 

"  "Well,  so  you  ought  to  be,  according  to  Cocker,  spend- 
ing all  your  time  in  sick-rooms." 

"  According  to  who  ?  " 

"  According  to  Cocker." 

"Who  is  Cocker?" 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know ;  some  old  fellow  who  wrote  the 
rules  of  arithmetic,  I  believe  ;  it's  only  a  bit  of  slang.  But, 
I  repeat,  you  have  a  right  to  be  sad,  and  it's  taking  an  un- 
fair advantage  of  your  relations  to  look  as  pleasant  as  you 
do." 

Katie  laughed  ;  "  You  ought  not  to  say  so,  at  any  rate," 
she  said,  "  for  you  look  all  the  pleasanter  for  your  visit  to 
a  sick-room." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  141 

"  Did  I  look  very  unpleasant  before  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  were  in  a  very  good  humor." 

"  No,  I  was  in  a  very  bad  humor,  and  talking  to  you 
and  poor  old  Betty  has  set  me  right,  I  think.  But  you 
said  hers  was  a  special  case.  It  must  be  very  sad  work 
in  general." 

"  Only  when  one  sees  people  in  great  pain,  or  when 
they  are  wicked,  and  quarrelling,  or  complaining  about  noth- 
ing ;  then  I  do  get  very  low  sometimes.  But  even  then  it 
is  much  better  than  keeping  to  one's  self.  Any  thing  is  bet- 
ter than  thinking  of  one's  self,  and  one's  own  troubles." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are  right,"  said  Tom,  recalling  his 
morning's  meditations,  "  especially  when  one's  troubles  are 
home-made.  Look,  here's  an  old  fellow  who  gave  me  a 
lecture  on  that  subject  before  I  saw  you  this  morning,  and 
took  me  for  the  apothecary's  boy." 

They  were  almost  opposite  David's  door,  at  which  he 
stood  Avith  a  piece  of  work  in  his  hand.  He  had  seen 
Miss  "Winter  from  his  look-out  window,  and  had  descended 
from  his  board  in  hopes  of  hearing  news. 

Katie  returned  his  respectful  and  anxious  salute,  and 
said,  "  She  is  no  worse,  David.  We  left  her  quite  out  of 
pain  and  very  quiet." 

"  Ah,  'tis  to  be  hoped  as  she'll  hev  a  peaceful  time  on't 
now,  poor  soul,"  said  David;  "I've  a  been  to  Farmer 
Grove's,  and  I  hopes  as  he'll  do  summat  about  Harry." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Miss  Winter,  "  and  my 
cousin  here,  who  knew  Harry  very  well  when  they  were 
little  boys  together,  has  promised  to  help  him.  This  is 
Harry's  best  friend,"  she  said  to  Tom,  "  who  has  done 
more  than  any  one  to  keep  him  right." 

David  seemed  a  little  embarrassed,  and  began  jerking 
his   head   about  when   his  acquaintance  of  the   morning, 


142  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

whom  he  had  scarcely  noticed  before,  was  introduced  bj 
Miss  Winter  as  "  my  cousin." 

"  I  wish  to  do  all  I  can  for  him,"  said  Tom,  "  and  I'm 
very  glad  to  have  made  your  acquaintance.  You  must 
let  me  know  whenever  I  can  help ; "  and  he  took  out  a 
card  and  handed  it  to  David,  who  looked  at  it,  and  then 
said,  — 

"  And  I  be  to  write  to  you,  sir,  then,  if  Harry  gets  into 
trouble  ?  " 

"  Yes,  but  we  must  keep  him  out  of  trouble,  even 
home-made  ones,  which  don't  leave  good  marks,  you 
know,"  said  Tom. 

"  And  thaay  be  nine  out  o'  ten  o'  aal  as  comes  to  a 
man,  sir,"  said  David,  "  as  I've  a  told  Harry  scores  o' 
times." 

"  That  seems  to  be  your  text,  David,"  said  Tom,  laugh- 
ing. 

"Ah,  and  'tis  a  good  un  too,  sir.  Ax  Miss  Winter 
else.  'Tis  a  sight  better  to  hev  the  Lord's  troubles  while 
you  be  about  it,  for  thaay  as  hasn't  makes  wus  for  their- 
selves  out  o'  nothin'.     Dwon't  em,  miss  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  you  know  that  I  agree  with  you,  David." 

"  Good-by,  then,"  said  Tom,  holding  out  his  hand,  "  and 
mind  you  let  me  hear  from  you." 

"  What  a  queer  old  bird,  with  his  whole  wisdom  of  man 
packed  up  small  for  ready  use,  like  a  quack  doctor,"  he 
said,  as  soon  as  they  were  out  of  hearing. 

"  Indeed,  he  isn't  the  least  like  a  quack  doctor.  I  don't 
know  a  better  man  in  the  parish,  though  he  is  rather  ob- 
stinate, like  all  the  rest  of  them." 

"  I  didn't  mean  to  say  any  thing  against  him,  I  assure 
you,"  said  Tom ;  "  on  the  contrary  I  think  him  a  fine  old 
fellow.     But  I   didn't  think  so  this  morning,  when  he 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  143 

showed  me  the  way  to  Betty's  cottage."  The  fact  was 
that  Tom  saw  all  things  and  persons  with  quite  a  different 
pair  of  eyes  from  those  which  he  had  been  provided  with 
when  he  arrived  in  Englebourn  that  morning.  He  even 
made  allowances  for  old  Mr.  Winter,  who  was  in  his  usual 
querulous  state  at  luncheon,  though  perhaps  it  would  have 
been  difficult  in  the  whole  neighborhood  to  find  a  more 
pertinent  comment  on  and  illustration  of  the  constable's 
text  than  the  poor  old  man  furnished,  with  his  complaints 
about  his  own  health  and  all  he  had  to  do  and  think 
of,  and  everybody  about  him.  It  did  strike  Tom,  how- 
ever, as  very  wonderful  how  such  a  character  as  Katie's 
could  have  grown  up  under  the  shade  of,  and  in  constant 
contact  with,  such  an  one  as  her  father's.  He  wished  his 
uncle  good-by  soon  after  luncheon,  and  he  and  Katie 
started  again  down  the  village  —  she  to  return  to  her 
nursing  and  he  on  his  way  home.  He  led  his  horse  by 
the  bridle  and  walked  by  her  side  down  the  street.  She 
pointed  to  the  Hawk's  Lynch  as  they  walked  along,  and 
said,  "  You  should  ride  up  there ;  it  is  scarcely  out  of 
your  way.  Mary  and  I  used  to  walk  there  every  day 
when  she  was  here,  and  she  was  so  fond  of  it." 

At  the  cottage  they  found  Harry  Winburn.  He  came 
out,  and  the  two  young  men  shook  hands,  and  looked  one 
another  over,  and  exchanged  a  few  shy  sentences.  Tom 
managed  with  difficulty  to  say  the  little  he  had  to  say,  but 
tried  to  make  up  for  it  by  a  hearty  manner.  It  was  not 
the  time  or  place  for  any  unnecessary  talk ;  so  in  a  few 
minutes  he  was  mounted  and  riding  up  the  slope  towards 
the  heath.  "  I  should  say  he  must  be  half  a  stone  lighter 
than  I,"  he  thought,  "  and  not  quite  so  tall ;  but  he  looked 
as  hard  as  iron,  and  tough  as  whipcord.  What  a  No.  7 
he'd  make  in  a  heavy  crew !  Poor  fellow,  he  seems 
dreadfully  cut  up.     I  hope  I  shall  be  able  to  be  of  use 


144  TOM   BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

to  him.    Now  for  this  place  which  Katie  showed  me  from 
the  village  street." 

He  pressed  his  horse  up  the  steep  side  of  the  Hawk's 
Lynch.  The  exhilaration  of  the  scramble,  and  the  sense 
of  power,  and  of  some  slight  risk,  which  he  felt  as  he 
helped  on  the  gallant  beast  with  hand  and  knee  and  heel, 
and  the  loose  turf  and  stones  flew  from  his  hoofs  and 
rolled  down  the  hill  behind  him,  made  his  eyes  kindle  and 
his  pulse  beat  quicker  as  he  reached  the  top  and  pulled 
up  under  the  Scotch  firs.  "  This  was  her  favorite  walk, 
then.  No  wonder.  What  an  air,  and  what  a  view ! " 
He  jumped  off  his  horse,  slipped  the  bridle  over  his  arm 
and  let  him  pick  away  at  the  short  grass  and  tufts  of  heath 
as  he  himself  first  stood,  and  then  sat,  and  looked  out  over 
the  scene  which  she  had  so  often  looked  over.  She  might 
have  sat  on  the  very  spot  he  was  sitting  on  ;  she  must  have 
taken  in  the  same  expanse  of  wood  and  meadow,  village 
and  park,  and  dreamy,  distant  hill.  Her  presence  seemed 
to  fill  the  air  round  him.  A  rush  of  new  thoughts  and 
feelings  swam  through  his  brain  and  carried  him,  a  will- 
ing piece  of  drift-man,  along  with  them.  He  gave  him- 
self up  to  the  stream,  and  revelled  in  them.  His  eye 
traced  back  the  road  along  which  he  had  ridden  in  the 
morning,  and  rested  on  the  Barton  woods,  just  visible  in 
the  distance,  on  this  side  of  the  point  where  all  outline 
except  that  of  the  horizon  began  to  be  lost.  The  flicker- 
ing July  air  seemed  to  beat  in  a  pulse  of  purple  glory 
over  the  spot.  The  soft  wind  which  blew  straight  from 
Barton  seemed  laden  with  her  name,  and  whispered  it  in 
the  firs  over  his  head.  Every  nerve  in  his  body  was 
bounding  with  new  life,  and  he  could  sit  still  no  longer. 
He  rose,  sprang  on  his  horse,  and,  with  a  shout  of  joy, 
turned  from  the  vale  and  rushed  away  on  to  the  heath, 
northwards,  towards  his  home  behind  the  chalk  hills.     He 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  115 

had  ridden  into  Englebourn  in  the  morning  an  almost  un- 
conscious dabbler  by  the  margin  of  the  great  stream ;  he 
rode  from  the  Hawk's  Lynch  in  the  afternoon  over  head 
and  ears,  and  twenty,  a  hundred,  ay,  unnumbered  fathoms 
below  that,  deep,  consciously,  and  triumphantly  in  love. 

But  at  what  a  pace,  and  in  what  a  form !  Love,  at 
least  in  his  first  access,  must  be  as  blind  a  horseman  as 
he  is  an  archer.  The  heath  was  rough  with  peat-cutting 
and  turf-cutting,  and  many  a  deep-rutted  farm  road  and 
tracks  of  heather  and  furze.  Over  them  and  through 
them  went  horse  and  man — horse  rising  seven,  and  man 
twenty  off,  a  well-matched  pair  in  age  for  a  wild  ride — 
headlong  towards  the  north,  till  a  blind  rut  somewhat 
deeper  than  usual  put  an  end  to  their  career,  and  sent  the 
good  horse  staggering  forward  some  thirty  feet  on  to  his 
nose  and  knees,  and  Tom  over  his  shoulder,  on  to  his  back 
in  the  heather. 

"  Well,  it's  lucky  it's  no  worse,"  thought  our  hero,  as 
he  picked  himself  up  and  anxiously  examined  the  horse, 
who  stood  trembling  and  looking  wildly  puzzled  at  the 
whole  proceeding  ;  "  I  hope  he  hasn't  overreached.  "What 
will  the  governor  say  ?  His  knees  are  all  right.  Poor 
old  boy,"  he  said,  patting  him,  "  no  wonder  you  look  as- 
tonished. You're  not  in  love.  Come  along ;  we  wont 
make  fools  of  ourselves  any  more.     What  is  it  ?  — 

" '  A  true  love  forsaken  a  new  love  may  get, 

But  a  neck  that's  once  broken  can  never  be  set.' 

What  stuff;  one  may  get  a  neck  set  for  any  thing  I  know  ; 
but  a  new  love  —  blasphemy  !  " 

Tlie  rest  of  the  ride  passed  off  soberly  enough,  except 
in  Tom's  brain,  wherein  were  built  up  in  gorgeous  suc- 
cession castles  such  as  we  have  all  built,  I  suppose,  be- 
fore now.     And  with  the  castles  were  built  up  side  by  sido 
13 


140  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

good  honest  resolves  to  be  worthy  of  her,  and  win  her  and 
worship  her  with  body,  and  mind,  and  soul.  And,  as  a 
first  instalment  away  to  the  winds  went  all  the  selfish 
morning  thoughts  ;  and  he  rode  down  the  northern  slope 
of  the  chalk  hills  a  dutiful  and  affectionate  son,  at  peace 
with  Mrs.  Porter,  and  honoring  her  for  her  care  of  the 
treasure  which  he  was  seeking,  and  in  good  time  for  din- 
ner. 

"  Well,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  to  her  husband  when 
they  were  alone  that  night,  "  did  you  ever  see  Tom  in 
such  spirits,  and  so  gentle  and  affectionate  ?  Dear  boy  ; 
there  can  be  nothing  the  matter." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?  "  replied  Mr.  Brown ;  "  you 
women  have  always  got  some  nonsense  in  your  heads  as 
soon  as  your  boys  have  a  hair  on  their  chin  or  your  girls 
begin  to  put  up  their  back  hair." 

"  Well,  John,  say  what  you  will,  I'm  sure  Mary  Porter 
is  a  very  sweet,  taking  girl,  and  — " 

"I  am  quite  of  the  same  opinion,"  said  Mr.  Brown, 
"  and  am  very  glad  you  have  written  to  ask  them  here." 

And  so  the  worthy  couple  went  happily  to  bed. 


CHAPTER  X. 


BROWN    PATRONUS. 


Ox  a  Saturday  afternoon  in  August,  a  few  weeks  after 
his  eventful  ride,  Tom  returned  to  Englebourn  Rectory, 
to  stay  over  Sunday  and  attend  Betty  Winburn's  funeral. 
He  was  strangely  attracted  to  Harry  by  the  remembrance 
of  their  old  boyish  rivalry ;  by  the  story  which  he  had 
heard  from  his  cousin,  of  the  unwavering  perseverance 
with  which  the  young  peasant  clung  to  and  pursued  his 
suit  for  Simon's  daughter;  but,  more  than  all, by  the  feel- 
ing of  gratitude  with  which  he  remembered  the  effect  his 
visit  to  Betty's  sick-room  had  had  on  him,  on  the  day  of 
his  ride  from  Barton  Manor.  On  that  day  he  knew  that 
he  had  ridden  into  Englebourn  in  a  miserable  mental  fog, 
and  had  ridden  out  of  it  in  sunshine,  which  had  lasted 
through  the  intervening  weeks.  Somehow  or  another  he 
had  got  set  straight  then  and  there,  turned  into  the  right 
road  and  out  of  the  wrong  one,  at  what  he  very  naturally 
believed  to  be  the  most  critical  moment  of  his  life. 

Without  stopping  to  weigh  accurately  the  respective 
merits  of  the  several  persons  whom  he  had  come  in  con- 
tact with  on  that  day,  he  credited  them  all  witli  a  large 
amount  of  gratitude  and  good-will,  and  Harry  with  his 
mother's  share  as  well  as  his  own.  So  he  had  been  long- 
ing to  do  something  for  him  ever  since;  the  more  he  re- 
joiced in  and  gave  himself  up  to  his  own  new  sensations, 
the  more  did  his  gratitude  become  as  it  were  a  burden  to 
him,  and  yet  no  opportunity  offered  of  letting  off  some  of 


148  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

it  in  action.  The  magistrates,  taking  into  consideration 
the  dangerous  state  of  his  mother,  had  let  Harry  off  with 
a  reprimand  for  his  assault,  so  there  was  nothing  to  be 
done  there.  He  wrote  to  Katie,  offering  more  money  for 
the  Winburns,  but  she  declined,  adding,  however,  to  her 
note  by  way  of  postscript,  that  he  might  give  it  to  her 
clothing  club,  or  coal  club.  Then  came  the  news  of  Bet- 
ty's death,  and  an  intimation  from  Katie  that  she  thought 
Harry  would  be  much  gratified  if  he  would  attend  the 
funeral.  He  jumped  at  the  suggestion.  All  Englebourn, 
from  the  Hawk's  Lynch  to  the  Rectory,  was  hallowed 
ground  to  him.  The  idea  of  getting  back  there,  so  much 
nearer  to  Barton  Manor,  filled  him  with  joy  which  he 
tried  in  vain  to  repress  when  he  thought  of  the  main  ob- 
ject of  his  visit. 

He  arrived  in  time  to  go  and  shake  hands  with  Harry 
before  dinner,  and  though  scarcely  a  word  passed  between 
them,  he  saw  with  delight  that  he  had  evidently  given 
pleasure  to  the  mourner.  Then  he  had  a  charming  long 
evening  with  Katie,  walking  in  the  garden  with  her  be- 
tween dinner  and  tea,  and  after  tea  discoursing  in  low 
tones  over  her  work-table,  while  Mr.  Winter  benevolently 
slept  in  his  arm-chair.  Their  discourse  branched  into 
many  paths,  but  managed  always  somehow  to  end  in  the 
sayings,  beliefs,  and  perfections  of  the  young  lady  of  Bai'- 
ton  Manor.  Tom  wondered  how  it  had  happened  so  when 
he  got  to  his  own  room,  as  he  fancied  Jje  had  not  betrayed 
himself  in  the  least.  He  had  determined  to  keep  reso- 
lutely on  his  guard,  and  to  make  a  confidant  of  no  living 
soul  till  he  was  twenty-one ;  and  though  sorely  tempted 
to  break  his  resolution  in  favor  of  Katie,  had  restrained 
himself.  He  might  have  spared  himself  all  the  trouble, 
but  that  he  did  not  know,  being  unversed  in  the  ways  of 
women,  and  all  unaware  of  the  subtlety  and  quickness  of 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  149 

their  intuitions  in  all  matters  connected  with  the  heart. 
Poor,  dear,  stolid,  dim-sighted  mankind,  how  they  do  sec 
through  us  and  walk  round  us  ! 

The  funeral  on  the  Sunday  afternoon  between  churches 
had  touched  him  much,  being  the  first  he  had  ever 
attended.  He  walked  next  behind  the  chief  mourner, 
the  few  friends,  amongst  whom  David  was  conspicuous, 
yielding  place  to  him.  He  stood  beside  him  in  church, 
and  at  the  open  grave,  and  made  the  responses  as  firmly 
as  he  could,  and  pressed  his  shoulder  against  his,  when  he 
felt  the  strong  frame  of  the  son  trembling  with  the  weight 
and  burden  of  his  resolutely  suppressed  agony.  When 
they  parted  at  the  cottage  door,  to  which  Tom  accompa- 
nied the  mourner  and  his  old  and  tried  friend  David,  though 
nothing  but  a  look  and  a  grasp  of  the  hand  passed  be- 
tween them,  he  felt  that  they  were  bound  by  a  new  and 
invisible  bond ;  and  as  he  walked  back  up  the  village  and 
past  the  churchyard,  where  the  children  were  playing 
about  on  the  graves,  stopping  every  now  and  then  to  watch 
the  sexton  as  he  stamped  down  and  filled  in  the  mould  on 
the  last-made  one,  beside  which  he  had  himself  stood  as 
a  mourner,  and  heard  the  bells  beginning  to  chime  for  the 
afternoon  service,  resolved  within  himself  that  he  would 
be  a  true  and  helpful  friend  to  the  widow's  son.  On  this 
subject  he  could  talk  freely  to  Katie,  and  did  so  that  even- 
ing, expounding  how  much  one  in  his  position  could  do 
for  a  young  laboring  man  if  he  really  was  bent  upon  it, 
and  building  up  grand  castles  for  Harry,  the  foundations 
of  which  rested  on  his  own  determination  to  benefit  and 
patronize  him.  Katie  listened  half  doubtingly  at  first, 
but  was  soon  led  away  by  his  confidence,  and  poured  out 
the  tea  in  the  full  belief  that,  with  Tom's  powerful  aid, 
all  would  go  well.  After  which  they  took  to  reading  the 
Christian  Year  together,  and  branched  into  discussions  on 
13* 


150  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

profane  poetry,  which  Katie  considered  scarcely  proper 
for  the  evening,  but  which,  nevertheless,  being  of  such 
rare  occurrence  with  her,  she  had  not  the  heart  to  stop. 

The  next  morning  Tom  was  to  return  home,  and  after 
breakfast  began  the  subject  of  his  plans  for  Harry  again. 
When  Katie  produced  a  small  paper  packet,  and  handed 
it  to  him,  saying, — 

"  Here  is  your  money  again  !  " 

"  What  money  ?  " 

"  The  money  you  left  with  me  for  Harry  Winburn.  I 
thought  at  the  time  that  most  probably  he  would  not  take 
it." 

"  But  are  you  sure  he  doesn't  want  it  ?  Did  you  try 
hard  to  get  him  to  take  it  ? "  said  Tom,  holding  out  his 
hand  reluctantly  for  the  money. 

"  Not  myself.  I  couldn't  offer  him  money  myself,  of 
course ;  but  I  sent  it  by  David,  and  begged  him  to  do  all 
he  could  to  persuade  him  to  take  it." 

"  Well,  and  why  wouldn't  he  ?  " 

"  Oh,  he  said  the  club-money  which  was  coming  in  was 
more  than  enough  to  pay  for  the  funeral,  and  for  himself 
he  didn't  want  it." 

"  How  provoking !  I  wonder  if  old  David  really  did 
his  best  to  get  him  to  take  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  am  sure  he  did.  But  you  ought  to  be  very 
glad  to  find  some  independence  in  a  poor  man." 

"  Bother  his  independence.  I  don't  like  to  feel  that  it 
costs  me  nothing  but  talk — I  want  to  pay." 

"  Ah,  Tom,  if  you  knew  the  poor  as  well  as  I  do,  you 
wouldn't  say  so.  I  am  afraid  there  are  not  two  other 
men  in  the  parish  who  would  have  refused  your  money. 
The  fear  of  undermining  their  independence  takes  away 
all  my  pleasure  in  giving." 

"  Undermining !  Why,  Katie,  I  am  sure  I  have  heard 
you  mourn  over  their  stubbornness  and  unreasonableness." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  151 

"  Oh,  yes ;  they  are  often  provokingly  stubborn  and  un- 
reasonable, and  yet  not  independent  about  money,  or  any 
thing  they  can  get  out  of  you.  Besides,  I  acknowledge 
that  I  have  become  wiser  of  late ;  I  used  to  like  to  see 
them  dependent,  and  cringing  to  me,  but  now  I  dread  it." 

"  But  you  would  like  David  to  give  in  about  the  sing- 
ing, wouldn't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  he  would  give  in,  I  should  be  very  proud.  I 
have  learnt  a  great  deal  from  him ;  I  used  positively  to 
dislike  him,  but  now  that  I  know  him,  I  think  him  the 
best  man  in  the  parish.  If  he  ever  does  give  in,  and  I 
think  he  will,  it  will  be  worth  any  thing,  just  because  he 
is  so  independent." 

"  That's  all  very  well,  but  what  am  I  to  do  to  show 
Harry  Winburn  that  I  mean  to  be  his  friend,  if  he  wont 
take  money  ?  " 

"  You  have  come  over  to  his  mother's  funeral — he  will 
think  more  of  that  than  of  all  the  money  you  could  give 
him ;  and  you  can  show  sympathy  for  him  in  a  great  many 
ways." 

"  Well,  I  must  try.  By  the  way,  about  his  love  affair  ; 
is  the  young  lady  at  home  ?  I  have  never  seen  her,  you 
know." 

"  No,  she  is  away  with  an  aunt,  looking  out  for  a  place. 
I  have  persuaded  her  to  get  one,  and  leave  home  again 
for  the  present.  Her  father  is  quite  well  now,  and  she  is 
not  wanted." 

"  Well,  it  seems  I  can't  do  any  good  with  her,  then,  but 
could  not  I  go  and  talk  to  her  father  about  Harry  ?  I 
might  help  him  in  that  way." 

"  You  must  be  very  careful,  Simon  is  such  an  odd-tem- 
pered old  man." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  afraid ;  he  and  I  are  great  chums,  and  a 
little  soft  soap  will  go  a  long  way  with  him.     Fancy  if  I 


152  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

could  get  him  this  very  morning  to  '  sanction  Harry's  suit,' 
as  the  phrase  is  ;  what  should  you  thing  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  very  highly  of  your  powers  of  persua- 
sion." 

Not  the  least  daunted  by  his  cousin's  misgivings,  Tom 
started  in  quest  of  Simon,  and  found  him  at  work  in  front 
of  the  greenhouse,  surrounded  by  many  small  pots  and 
heaps  of  finely  sifted  mould,  and  absorbed  in  his  occupa- 
tion. 

Simon  was  a  rough,  stolid  Berkshire  rustic,  somewhat 
of  a  tyrant  in  the  bosom  of  his  family,  an  unmanageable 
servant,  a  cross-grained  acquaintance ;  as  a  citizen,  stiff- 
necked  and  a  grumbler,  who  thought  that  nothing  ever 
went  right  in  the  parish  ;  but,  withal,  a  thorough  honest 
worker,  and  when  allowed  to  go  his  own  way,  —  and  no 
other  way  would  he  go,  as  his  mistress  had  long  since  dis- 
covered,—  there  was  no  man  who  earned  his  daily  bread 
more  honestly.  He  took  a  pride  in  his  work,  and  the 
rectory  garden  was  always  trim  and  well  kept,  and  the 
beds  bright  with  flowers  from  early  spring  till  late  au- 
tumn. 

He  was  absorbed  in  what  he  was  about,  and  Tom  came 
up  close  to  him  without  attracting  the  least  sign  of  recog- 
nition, so  he  stopped,  and  opened  the  conversation. 

"  Good-day,  Simon ;  it's  a  pleasure  to  see  a  garden 
looking  so  gay  as  yours." 

Simon  looked  up  from  his  work,  and,  when  he  saw  who 
it  was,  touched  his  battered  old  hat,  and  answered,  — 

"  Mornin',  sir.     Ees,  you  finds  me  alius  in  blume." 

"Indeed  I  do,  Simon  ;  but  how  do  you  manage  it?  I 
should  like  to  tell  my  father's  gardener." 

"  'Tis  no  use  to  tell  un  if  a  hevn't  found  out  for  his- 
self ;  'tis  nothing  but  lookin'  a  bit  forrard  and  farmyard 
8tuff  as  does  it." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  153 

"  Well,  there's  plenty  of  farmyard  stuff  at  home,  and 
yet,  somehow,  we  never  look  half  so  bright  as  you  do." 

"  May  be  as  your  gardener  just  takes  and  hits  it  auver 
the  top  o'  the  ground,  and  lets  it  lie.  That's  no  kinder 
good,  that  beant  —  'tis  the  roots  as  wants  the  stuff;  and 
you  med  jist  as  well  take  and  put  a  round  o'  beef  agin 
my  back  bwone  as  hit  the  stuff  auver  the  ground,  and 
never  see  as  it  gets  to  the  roots  o'  the  plants." 

"  No,  I  don't  think  it  can  be  that,"  said  Tom,  laughing ; 
"  our  gardener  seems  always  to  be  digging  his  manure  in, 
but  somehow  he  can't  make  it  come  out  in  flowers  as  you 
do." 

"  Ther'  be  mwore  waays  o'  killin'  a  cat  besides  choking 
on  un  wi'  cream,"  said  Simon,  chuckling  in  his  turn. 

"  That's  true,  Simon,"  said  Tom  ;  "  the  fact  is,  a  gardener 
must  know  his  business  as  well  as  you  to  be  always  in 
bloom,  eh  ?  " 

"  That's  about  it,  sir,"  said  Simon,  on  whom  the  flattery 
was  beginning  to  tell. 

Tom  saw  this,  and  thought  he  might  now  feel  his  way 
a  little  further  with  the  old  man. 

':  I'm  over  on  a  sad  errand,"  he  said ;  "  I've  been  to 
poor  Widow  Winburn's  funeral  —  she  was  an  old  friend 
of  yours,  I  think  ?  " 

"  Ees ;  I  minds  her  long  afore  she  wur  married,"  said 
Simon,  turning  to  his  pots  again. 

"  She  wasn't  an  old  woman,  after  all,"  said  Tom. 

"  Sixty-two  year  old  cum  Michaelmas,"  said  Simon. 

"Well,  she  ought  to  have  been  a  strong  woman  for 
another  ten  years  at  least ;  why,  you  must  be  older  than 
she  by  some  years,  Simon,  and  you  can  do  a  good  day's 
work  yet  with  any  man." 

Simon  went  on  with  his  potting  without  replying,  ex- 
cept by  a  carefully  measured  grunt,  sufficient  to  show  that 


154  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

he  had  heard  the  remark,  and  was  not  much  impressed  by 
it. 

Tom  saw  that  he  must  change  his  attack,  so,  after  watch- 
ing Simon  for  a  minute,  he  began  again. 

"  I  wonder  why  it  is  that  the  men  of  your  time  of  life 
are  so  much  stronger  than  the  young  ones  in  constitution. 
Now,  I  don't  believe  there  are  three  young  men  in  Engle- 
bourn  who  would  have  got  over  that  fall  you  had  at 
Farmer  Groves'  so  quick  as  you  have ;  most  young  men 
would  have  been  crippled  for  life  by  it." 

"  Zo  'em  would,  the  young  wosbirds.  I  dwon't  make  no 
account  on  'em,"  said  Simon. 

"And  you  don't  feel  any  the  worse  for  it,  Simon?" 

"  Narra  mossel,"  replied  Simon  ;  but  presently  he  seemed 
to  recollect  something,  and  added,  "  I  wunt  saay  but  what 
I  feels  it  at  times  when  I've  got  to  stoop  about  much." 

"  Ah,  I'm  sorry  to  hear  that,  Simon.  Then  you  oughtn't 
to  have  so  much  stooping  to  do  ;  potting,  and  that  sort  of 
thing,  is  the  work  for  you,  I  should  think,  and  just  giving 
an  eye  to  every  thing  about  the  place.  Anybody  could  do 
the  digging  and  setting  out  cabbages,  and  your  time  is 
only  wasted  at  it."  Tom  had  now  found  the  old  man's 
weak  point. 

"  Ees,  sir,  and  so  I  tells  miss,"  he  said ;  "  but  wi'  nothin' 
but  a  bit  o'  glass  no  bigger  'n  a  cowcumber  frame,  'tis  all 
as  a  man  can  do  to  keep  a  few  plants  alive  droo'  the 
winter." 

"  Of  course,"  said  Tom,  looking  round  at  the  very  re- 
spectable greenhouse  which  Simon  had  contemptuously 
likened  to  a  cucumber-frame,  "  you  ought  to  have  at  least 
another  house  as  big  as  this  for  forcing." 

"  Master  aint  pleased,  he  aint,"  said  Simon,  "  if  he 
dwont  get  his  things,  his  spring  wegebatles,  and  his  straw- 
berries, as  early  as  though  we'd  a  got  forcin  pits,  and  glass 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  155 

like  other  folk.  'Tis  a  year  and  mwore  since  he  promised 
as  I  sh'd  hev  glass  along  that  ther'  Avail,  but  'tis  no  nigher 
comin'  as  I  can  see.  I  be  to  spake  to  miss  about  it 
now  he  says,  and  when  I  spakes  to  her,  'tis,  '  0  Simon, 
we  must  wait  till  the  'spensary's  'stablished,'  or,  '  O  Si- 
mon, last  winter  wur  a  werry  tryin'  wun,  and  the  sick 
club's  terrible  bad  off  for  funds,' — and  so  we  gwoes  on, 
and  med  gwo  on  for  aught  as  I  can  see,  so  long  as  ther's 
a  body  sick  or  bad  off  in  all  the  parish.  And  that'll  be 
alius.  For  what  wi'  miss'  wisitin'  on  'em,  and  sendin'  on 
'em  dinners,  and  a'al  the  doctor's  stuff  as  is  served  out  o' 
the  'spensary  —  wy,  'tis  enough  to  keep  'em  bad  a'al  ther' 
lives.  Ther  aint  no  credit  in  gettin'  well.  Ther  wur  no 
sich  a  caddie  about  sick  folk  when  I  wur  a  buoy." 

Simon  had  never  been  known  to  make  such  a  long 
speech  before,  and  Tom  augured  well  for  his  negotiation. 

"  "Well,  Simon,"  he  said,  "  I've  been  talking  to  my 
cousin,  and  I  think  she  will  do  what  you  want  now.  The 
dispensary  is  set  up,  and  the  people  are  very  healthy. 
How  much  glass  should  you  want  now  along  that  wall?" 

"A  matter  o'  twenty  fit  or  so,"  said  Simon. 

"  I  think  that  can  be  managed,"  said  Tom,  "  I'll  speak 
to  my  cousin  about  it,  and  then  you  would  have  plenty  to 
do  in  the  houses,  and  you'd  want  a  regular  man  under 
you." 

"  Ees ;  t'would  take  two  on  us  reg'lar  to  kep  things  as 
should  be." 

"  And  you  ought  to  have  somebody  who  knows  what  he 
is  about.  Can  you  think  of  any  one  who  would  do,  Si- 
mon ?  " 

"  Ther's  a  young  chap  as  works  for  Squire  "VVurley. 
I've  heard  as  he  wants  to  better  hisself." 

"But  he  isn't  an  Englebourn  man.  Isn't  there  any  one 
in  the  parish  ?  " 


156  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Ne'er  a  one  as  I  knows  on." 

"  What  do  you  think  of  Harry  Winburn  —  he  seems  a 
good  hand  with  flowers  ?  "  The  words  had  scarcely  passed 
his  lips  when  Tom  saw  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  Old 
Simon  retired  into  himself  at  once,  and  a  cunning,  distrust- 
ful look  came  over  his  face.  There  was  no  doing  any 
thing  with  him.  Even  the  new  forcing-house  had  lost  its 
attractions  for  him,  and  Tom,  after  some  further  ineffect- 
ual attempts  to  bring  him  round,  returned  to  the  house 
somewhat  crest-fallen. 

"  Well,  how  have  you  succeeded  ?  "  said  Katie,  looking 
up  from  her  work,  as  he  came  in  and  sat  down  near  her 
table.     Tom  shook  his  head. 

"  I'm  afraid  I've  made  a  regular  hash  of  it,"  he  said. 
"  I  thought  at  first  I  had  quite  come  round  the  old  savage 
by  praising  the  garden,  and  promising  that  you  would  let 
him  have  a  new  house." 

"  You  don't  mean  to  say  you  did  that ! "  said  Katie, 
stopping  her  work. 

"  Indeed,  but  I  did,  though.  I  was  drawn  on,  you 
know.  I  saw  it  was  the  right  card  to  play,  so  I  couldn't 
help  it." 

"  O  Tom  !  how  could  you  do  so  ?  We  don't  want  an- 
other house  the  least  in  the  world ;  it  is  only  Simon's  van- 
ity. He  wants  to  beat  the  gardener  at  the  Grange  at  the 
flower-shows.  Every  penny  will  have  to  come  out  of 
what  papa  allows  me  for  the  parish." 

"  Don't  be  afraid,  Katie,  you  wont  have  to  spend  a 
penny.  Of  course  I  reserved  a  condition.  The  new 
house  was  to  be  put  up  if  he  would  take  Harry  as  under- 
gardener." 

"  What  did  he  say  to  that  ?  " 

"  Well,  he  said  nothing.  I  never  came  across  such  an 
old  Turk.     How  you  have  spoiled  him.    If  he  isn't  pleased, 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  ]  57 

he  wont  take  the  trouble  to  answer  you  a  word.  I  was 
very  near  telling  him  a  piece  of  my  mind.  But  he  looked 
all  the  more.  I  believe  he  would  poison  Harry  if  he 
came  here.     What  can  have  made  him  hate  him  so  ?  " 

"  He  is  jealous  of  him.  Mary  and  I  were  so  foolish  as 
to  praise  poor  Betty's  flowers  before  Simon,  and  he  has 
never  forgiven  it.  I  think,  too,  that  he  suspects,  some- 
how, that  Ave  talked  about  getting  Harry  here.  I  ought 
to  have  told  you,  but  I  crnite  forgot  it." 

"  Well,  it  can't  be  helped.  I  don't  think  I  can  do  any 
good  in  that  quarter,  so  now  I  shall  be  off  to  the  Grange, 
to  see  what  I  can  do  there." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Harry  is  afraid  of  being  turned  out  of  his  cot- 
tage. I  saw  how  it  worried  him,  thinking  about  it ;  so  I 
shall  go  to  the  Grange,  and  say  a  good  word  for  him. 
Wurley  can't  refuse,  if  I  offer  to  pay  the  rent  myself — it's 
only  six  pounds  a  year.  Of  course  I  shan't  tell  Harry ; 
and  he  will  pay  it  all  the  same ;  but  it  may  make  all  the 
difference  with  Wurley,  who  is  a  regular  screw." 

"  Do  you  know  Mr.  Wurley  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  to  speak  to.  He  knows  all  about  me,  and 
he  will  be  very  glad  to  be  civil." 

"  No  doubt  he  will ;  but  I  don't  like  your  going  to  his 
house.  You  don't  know  what  a  bad  man  he  is.  Nohody 
but  men  on  the  turf,  and  that  sort  of  people,  go  there  now  ; 
and  I  believe  he  thinks  of  nothing  but  gambling  and  game 
preserving." 

"  Oil,  yes,  I  know  all  about  him.  The  county  people 
are  beginning  to  look  shy  at  him,  so  he'll  be  all  the  more 
likely  to  do  what  I  ask  him." 

"  But  you  wont  get  intimate  with  him  ?  " 

"  You  needn't  be  afraid  of  that." 
14 


158  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  It  is  a  sad  house  to  go  to ;  I  hope  it  wont  do  you  any 
harm." 

"  Ah,  Katie ! "  said  Tom,  with  a  smile,  not  altogether 
cheerful,  "  I  don't  think  you  need  be  anxious  about  that. 
When  one  has  been  a  year  at  Oxford,  there  isn't  much 
snow  left  to  soil ;  so  now  I  am  off.  I  must  give  myself 
plenty  of  time  to  cook  Wurley." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  I  must  not  hinder  you,"  said  Katie. 
"  I  do  hope  you  will  succeed  in  some  of  your  kind  plans 
for  Harry." 

"  I  shall  do  my  best ;  and  it  is  a  great  thing  to  have 
somebody  besides  one's  self  to  think  about,  and  try  to  help 
— some  poor  person — don't  you  think  so,  even  for  a  man?" 

"  Of  course  I  do.  I  am  sure  you  can't  be  happy  with- 
out it,  any  more  than  I.  We  shouldn't  be  our  mother's 
children  if  we  could  be." 

"Well,  good-by,  dear;  you  can't  think  how  I  enjoy 
these  glimpses  of  you  and  your  work.  You  must  give 
my  love  to  Uncle  Robert." 

And  so  they  bade  one  another  adieu,  lovingly,  after  the 
manner  of  cousins,  and  Tom  rode  away  with  a  very  soft 
place  in  his  heart  for  his  Cousin  Katie.  It  was  not  the 
least  the  same  sort  of  passionate  feeling  of  worship  with 
which  he  regarded  Mary.  The  two  feelings  could  lie  side 
by  side  in  his  heart  with  plenty  of  room  to  spare.  In  fact, 
his  heart  had  been  getting  so  big  in  the  last  few  weeks, 
that  it  seemed  capable  of  taking  in  the  whole  of  mankind, 
not  to  mention  woman.  Still,  on  the  whole,  it  may  be 
safely  asserted,  that,  had  matters  been  in  at  all  a  more 
forward  state,  and  could  she  have  seen  exactly  what  was 
passing  in  his  mind,  Mary  would  probably  have  objected 
to  the  land  of  affection  which  he  felt  for  his  cousin  at  this 
particular  time.     The  joke  about  cousinly  love  is  prob- 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  159 

ably  as  old,  and  certainly  as  true,  as  Solomon's  proverbs. 
However,  as  matters  stood,  it  could  be  no  concern  of 
Mary  what  his  feelings  were  towards  Katie,  or  any  other 
person. 

Tom  rode  in  at  the  lodge  gate  of  the  Grange  soon  after 
eleven  o'clock,  and  walked  his  horse  slowly  through  the 
park,  admiring  the  splendid  timber,  and  thinking  how  he 
should  break  his  request  to  the  owner  of  the  place.  But 
his  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  proceedings  of  the 
rabbits,  which  were  out  by  hundreds  all  along  the  sides  of 
the  plantations,  and  round  the  great  trees.  A  few  of  the 
nearest  just  deigned  to  notice  him  by  scampering  to  their 
holes  under  the  roots  of  the  antlered  oaks,  into  which  some 
of  them  popped  with  a  disdainful  kick  of  their  hind  legs, 
while  others  turned  round,  sat  up,  and  looked  at  him.  As 
he  neared  the  house,  he  passed  a  keeper's  cottage,  and 
was  saluted  by  the  barking  of  dogs  from  the  neighboring 
kennel;  and  the  young  pheasants  ran  about  round  some 
twenty  hen-coops,  which  were  arranged  along  opposite  the 
door  where  the  keeper's  children  were  playing.  The 
pleasure  of  watching  the  beasts  and  birds  kept  him  from 
arranging  his  thoughts,  and  he  reached  the  hall-door  with- 
out having  formed  the  plan  of  his  campaign. 

A  footman  answered  the  bell,  who  doubted  whether  his 
master  was  down,  but  thought  he  would  see  the  gentleman 
if  he  would  send  in  his  name.  Whereupon  Tom  handed 
in  his  card  ;  and  in  a  few  minutes,  a  rakish-looking  stable- 
boy  came  round  for  his  horse,  and  the  butler  appeared, 
with  his  master's  compliments,  and  a  request  that  he  would 
step  into  the  breakfast-room.  Tom  followed  this  portly 
personage  through  the  large,  handsome  hall,  on  the  walls 
of  which  hung  a  buff  coat  or  two  and  some  old-fashioned 
arms,  and  large  paintings  of  dead  game  and  fruit  —  through 
a  drawing-room,  the  furniture  of  which  was  all  covered 


160  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

up  in  melancholy  cases  —  into  the  hreakfast-parlor,  where 
the  owner  of  the  mansion  was  seated  at  tahle  in  a  loung- 
ing jacket.  He  was  a  man  of  forty,  or  thereabouts,  who 
would  have  been  handsome,  but  for  the  animal  look  about 
his  face.  His  cheeks  were  beginning  to  fall  into  chops, 
his  full  lips  had  a  liquorish  look  about  them,  and  bags  were 
beginning  to  form  under  his  light  blue  eyes.  His  hands 
were  very  white  and  delicate,  and  shook  a  little  as  he 
poured  out  his  tea ;  and  he  was  full  and  stout  in  body,  with 
small  shoulders,  and  thin  arms  and  legs  ;  in  short,  the  last 
man  whom  Tom  would  have  chosen  as  bow  in  a  pair  oar. 
The  only  part  of  him  which  showed  strength  were  his 
dark  whiskers,  which  were  abundant,  and  elaborately  oiled 
and  curled.  The  room  was  light  and  pleasant,  with  two 
windows  looking  over  the  park,  and  furnished  luxui"iously, 
in  the  most  modern  style,  with  all  manner  of  easy-chairs 
and  sofas.  A  glazed  case  or  two  of  well-bound  books 
showed  that  some  former  owner  had  cared  for  such  things ; 
but  the  doors  had,  probably,  never  been  opened  in  the 
present  reign.  The  master,  and  his  usual  visitors,  found 
sufficient  food  for  the  mind  in  the  Racing  Calendar,  Box- 
iana,  the  Adventures  of  Corinthian  Tom,  and  Bell's  Life, 
which  lay  on  a  side  table  ;  or  in  the  pictures  and  prints 
of  racers,  opera  dancers,  and  steeple-chases,  which  hung 
in  profusion  on  the  walls.  The  breakfast-table  was  beau- 
tifully appointed,  in  the  matter  of  China  and  plate  ;  and 
delicate  little  rolls,  neat  pats  of  butter  in  ice,  and  two 
silver  hot  dishes  containing  curry  and  broiled  salmon,  and 
a  plate  of  fruit,  piled  in  tempting  profusion,  appealed, 
apparently  in  vain,  to  the  appetite  of  the  lord  of  the 
feast. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  sir,"  said  the  butler,  ushering  in  our  hero 
to  his  master's  presence. 

"  Ah,  Brown,  I'm  very  glad  to  see  you  here,"  said  Mr. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  161 

Wurley,  standing  up  and  holding  out  his  hand.     "  Have 
any  breakfast  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  no ;  I  have  breakfasted,"  said  Tom,  some- 
what astonished  at  the  intimacy  of  the  greeting ;  but  it 
was  his  cue  to  do  the  friendly  thing,  so  he  shook  the  prof- 
fered hand,  which  felt  very  limp,  and  sat  down  by  the 
table,  looking  pleasant. 

"  Ridden  from  home  this  morning  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wurley, 
picking  over  daintily  some  of  the  curry  to  which  he  had 
helped  himself.    ' 

';  No ;  I  was  at  my  uncle's,  at  Englebourn,  last  night. 
It  is  very  little  out  of  the  way,  so  I  thought  I  would  just 
call  on  my  road  home." 

"  Quite  right.  I'm  very  glad  you  came  without  cere- 
mony. People  about  here  are  so  d — d  full  of  ceremony. 
It  don't  suit  me  all  that  humbug.  But  I  wish  you'd  just 
pick  a  bit." 

"  Thank  you.  Then  I  will  eat  some  fruit,"  said  Tom, 
helping  himself  to  some  of  the  freshly  picked  grapes  ; 
"  how  very  fine  these  are  ! " 

"  Yes,  I'm  open  to  back  my  houses  against  the  field  for 
twenty  miles  round.  This  curry  isn't  fit  for  a  pig.  Take 
it  out,  and  tell  the  cook  so."  The  butler  solemnly  obeyed, 
while  his  master  went  on  with  one  of  the  frequent  oaths 
with  which  he  garnished  his  conversation.  "  You're  right, 
they  can't  spoil  the  fruit.  They're  a  set  of  skulking  dev- 
ils, are  servants.  They  think  of  nothing  but  stuffing 
themselves,  and  how  they  can  cheat  you  most,  and  do  the 
least  work."  Saying  which,  he  helped  himself  to  some 
fruit ;  and  the  two  eat  their  grapes  for  a  short  time  in. 
silence.  But  even  fruit  seemed  to  pall  quickly  on  him, 
and  he  pushed  away  his  plate.  The  butler  came  back 
with  a  silver  tray,  with  soda  water,  and  a  small  decanter 
of  brandy,  and  long  glasses  on  it. 
14* 


1G2  TOM   BHOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Wont  you  have  something  after  your  ride  ?  "  said  the 
host  to  Tom ;  "  some  soda  water,  with  a  dash  of  bingo 
clears  one's  head  in  the  morning." 

"  No,  thank  you,"  said  Tom,  smiling ;  "  it's  bad  for  train- 
ing." 

"Ah,  you  Oxford  men  are  all  fo?  training,"  said  his 
host,  drinking  greedily  of  the  foaming  mixture  which  the 
butler  handed  to  him.  "  A  glass  of  bitter  ale  is  what  you 
take,  eh  ?     I  know.     Get  some  ale  for  Mr.  Brown." 

Tom  felt  that  it  would  be  uncivil  to  refuse  this  orthodox 
offer,  and  took  his  beer  accordingly,  after  which  his  host 
produced  a  box  of  Hudson's  Regalias,  and  proposed  to 
look  at  the  stables.  So  they  lighted  their  cigars,  and 
went  out.  Mr.  Wurley  had  taken  of  late  to  the  turf,  and 
they  inspected  several  young  horses  which  were  entered 
for  country  stakes.  Tom  thought  them  weedy-looking 
animals,  but  patiently  listened  to  their  praises  and  pedi- 
grees, upon  which  his  host  was  eloquent  enough;  and 
rubbing  up  his  latest  readings  in  BelVs  Life,  and  the  rac- 
ing talk  which  he  had  been  in  the  habit  of  hearing  in 
Drysdale's  rooms,  managed  to  hold  his  own,  and  asked, 
with  a  grave  face,  about  the  price  of  the  Coronation  colt 
for  the  next  Derby,  and  whether  Scott's  lot  was  not  the 
right  thing  to  stand  on  for  the  St.  Leger,  thereby  raising 
himself  considerably  in  his  host's  eyes.  There  were  no 
hunters  in  the  stable,  at  which  Tom  expressed  his  sur- 
prise. In  reply,  Mr.  Wurley  abused  the  country,  and 
declared  that  it  was  not  worth  riding  across,  the  fact  be- 
ing that  he  had  lost  his  nerve,  and  that  the  reception 
which  he  was  beginning  to  meet  with  in  the  field,  if  he 
came  out  by  chance,  was  of  the  coldest. 

From  the  stables  they  strolled  to  the  keeper's  cottage, 
where  Mr.  Wurley  called  for  some  buckwheat  and  In- 
dian corn,  and  began  feeding  the  young  pheasants,  which 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  163 

were  running  about  almost  like  barn-door  fowls  close  to 
them. 

"  We've  bad  a  good  season  for  the  young  birds,"  he 
said  ;  "  my  fellow  knows  that  part  of  his  business,  d — n 
him,  and  don't  lose  many.  You  had  better  bring  your 
gun  over  in  October ;  we  shall  have  a  week  in  the  covers 
early  in  the  month." 

"  Thank  you,  I  shall  be  very  glad,"  said  Tom  ;  "  but  you 
don't  shoot  these  birds  ?  " 

"  Shoot  'em  !  what  the  devil  should  I  do  with  them  ?  " 

"  Why,  they're  so  tame  I  thought  you  just  kept  them 
about  the  house  for  breeding.  I  don't  care  so  much  for 
pheasant  shooting ;  I  like  a  good  walk  after  a  snipe,  or 
creeping  along  to  get  a  wild  duck,  much  better.  There's 
some  sport  in  it,  or  even  in  partridge  shooting  with  a 
couple  of  good  dogs,  now  —  " 

"  You're  quite  wrong.  There's  nothing  like  a  good 
dry  ride  in  a  cover  with  lots  of  game,  and  a  fellow  behind 
to  load  for  you." 

"  Well,  I  must  say,  I  prefer  the  open." 

"  You've  no  covers  over  your  way,  have  you  ?  " 

"  Not  many." 

"  I  thought  so.  You  wait  till  you've  had  a  good  day  in 
my  covers,  and  you  wont  care  a  d — n  for  quartering  all 
day  over  wet  turnips.  Besides,  this  sort  of  thing  pays. 
They  talk  about  pheasants  costing  a  guinea  a  head  on 
one's  table.  It's  d — d  stuff;  at  any  rate,  mine  don't  cost 
me  much.     In  fact,  I  say  it  pays,  and  I  can  prove  it." 

"  But  you  feed  your  pheasants  ?  " 

"  Yes,  just  round  the  house  for  a  few  weeks,  and  I  sow 
a  little  buckwheat  in  the  covers.  But  they  have  to  keep 
themselves  pretty  much,  I  can  tell  you." 

"  Don't  the  farmers  object?  " 

"  Yes,  d — n  them  ;  they're  never  satisfied.      But  they 


164  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

don't  grumble  to  me  ;  they  know  better.  There  are  a 
dozen  fellows  ready  to  take  any  farm  that's  given  up,  and 
they  know  it.  Just  get  a  beggar  to  put  a  hundred  or  two 
into  the  ground,  and  he  wont  quit  hold  in  a  hurry.  Will 
you  play  a  game  at  billiards  ?  " 

The  turn  which  their  conversation  had  taken  hitherto 
had  offered  no  opening  to  Tom  for  introducing  the  object 
of  his  visit,  and  he  felt  less  and  less  inclined  to  come  to  the 
point.  He  looked  his  host  over  and  over  again,  and  the 
more  he  looked  the  less  he  fancied  asking  any  thing  like  a 
favor  of  him.  However,  as  it  had  to  be  done,  he  thought  he 
couldn't  do  better  than  fall  into  his  ways  for  a  few  hours, 
and  watch  for  a  chance.  The  man  seemed  good-natured 
in  his  way  ;  and  all  his  belongings  —  the  fine  park  and 
house,  and  gardens  and  stables  —  were  not  without  their 
effect  on  his  young  guest.  It  is  not  given  to  many  men 
of  twice  his  age  to  separate  a  man  from  his  possessions, 
and  look  at  him  apart  from  them.  So  he  yielded  easily 
enough,  and  they  went  to  billiards  in  a  fine  room  opening 
out  of  the  hall ;  and  Tom,  who  was  very  fond  of  the 
game,  soon  forgot  every  thing  in  the  pleasure  of  playing 
on  such  a  table. 

It  was  not  a  bad  match.  Mr.  "Wurley  understood  the 
game  far  better  than  his  guest,  and  could  give  him  advice 
as  to  what  side  to  put  on  and  how  to  play  for  cannons. 
This  he  did  in  a  patronizing  way,  but  his  hand  was  un- 
steady and  his  nerve  bad.  Tom's  good  eye  and  steady 
hand,  and  the  practice  he  had  had  at  the  St.  Ambrose 
pool-table,  gave  him  considerable  advantage  in  the  haz- 
ards. And  so  they  played  on,  Mr.  Wurley  condescending 
to  bet  only  half  a  crown  a  game,  at  first  giving  ten  points, 
and  then  five,  at  which  latter  odds  Tom  managed  to  be 
two  games  ahead  when  the  butler  announced  lunch  at  two 
o'clock. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  1G5 

"  I  think  I  must  order  my  horse,"  said  Tom,  putting  on 
his  coat. 

"No,  d — n  it,  you  must  give  me  my  revenge.  I'm  al- 
ways five  points  better  after  lunch,  and  after  dinner  I 
could  give  you  fifteen  points.  Why  shouldn't  you  stop 
and  dine  and  sleep  ?     I  expect  some  men  to  dinner." 

"  Thank  you,  I  must  get  home  to-day." 

"  I  should  like  you  to  taste  my  mutton  ;  I  never  kill  it 
under  five  years  old.     You  don't  get  that  every  day." 

Tom,  however,  was  proof  against  the  mutton ;  but  con- 
sented to  stay  till  towards  the  hour  when  the  other  guests 
were  expected,  finding  that  his  host  had  a  decided  objec- 
tion to  being  left  alone.  So  after  lunch,  at  which  Mr. 
Wurley  drank  the  better  part  of  a  bottle  of  old  sherry  to 
steady  his  nerves,  they  returned  again  to  billiards  and 
Hudson's  Regalias. 

They  played  on  for  another  hour;  and  though  Mr. 
Wurley's  hand  was  certainly  steadier,  the  luck  remained 
with  Tom.  He  was  now  getting  rather  tired  of  playing, 
and  wanted  to  be  leaving,  and  he  began  to  remember  the 
object  of  his  visit  again.  But  Mr.  "Wurley  was  nettled 
at  being  beaten  by  a  boy,  as  he  counted  his  opponent,  and 
wouldn't  hear  of  leaving  off.  So  Tom  played  on  care- 
lessly game  after  game,  and  was  soon  again  only  two 
games  ahead.  Mr.  Wurley's  temper  was  recovering,  and 
now  Tom  protested  that  he  must  go.  Just  one  game  more 
his  host  urged,  and  Tom  consented.  Wouldn't  he  play 
for  a  sovereign  ?  ISo.  So  they  played  double  or  quits  ; 
and  after  a  sharp  struggle  Mr.  Wurley  won  the  game,  at 
which  he  was  highly  elated,  and  talked  again  grandly  of 
the  odds  he  could  give  after  dinner. 

Tom  felt  that  it  was  now  or  never,  and  so  as  he  put  on 
his  coat,  he  said,  — 


166  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Well,  I'm  much  obliged  to  you  for  a  very  pleasant 
day,  Mr.  Wurley." 

"  I  hope  you'll  come  over  again,  and  stay  and  sleep.  I 
shall  always  be  glad  to  see  you.  It  is  so  cursed  hard  to 
keep  somebody  always  going  in  the  country." 

"  Thank  you  ;  I  should  like  to  come  again.  But  now 
I  want  to  ask  a  favor  of  you  before  I  go." 

"  Eh,  well,  what  is  it  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wurley,  whose  face 
and  manner  became  suddenly  any  thing  but  encouraging. 

"  There's  that  cottage  of  yours,  the  one  at  the  corner 
of  Englebourn  Copse,  next  the  village." 

"  The  woodman's  house,  I  know,"  said  Mr.  Wurley. 

"  The  tenant  is  dead,  and  I  want  you  to  let  it  to  a  friend 
of  mine ;  I'll  take  care  the  rent  is  paid." 

Mr.  Wurley  pricked  up  his  ears  at  this  announcement. 
He  gave  a  sharp  look  at  Tom ;  and  then  bent  over  the 
table,  made  a  stroke,  and  said,  "  Ah,  I  heard  the  old  wo- 
man was  dead.     Who's  your  friend,  then  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  mean  her  son,"  said  Tom,  a  little  embar- 
rassed ;  "  he's  an  active  young  fellow,  and  will  make  a 
good  tenant,  I'm  sure." 

"  I  dare  say,"  said  Mr.  Wurley,  with  a  leer ;  "  and  I 
suppose  there's  a  sister  to  keep  house  for  him,  eh  ?  " 

"  No,  but  he  wants  to  get  married." 

"  Wants  to  get  married,  eh  ?  "  said  Mr.  Wurley,  with 
another  leer  and  oath.  "  You're  right ;  that's  a  deal  safer 
kind  of  thing  for  you." 

"  Yes,"  said  Tom,  resolutely  disregarding  the  insinua- 
tion which  he  could  not  help  feeling  was  intended ;  "  it 
will  keep  him  steady,  and  if  he  can  get  the  cottage  it 
might  make  all  the  difference.  There  wouldn't  be  much 
trouble  about  the  marriage  then,  I  dare  say." 

"  You'll  find  it  a  devilish  long  way.    You're  quite  right, 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  167 

mind  you,  not  to  get  them  settled  close  at  home ;  but  En- 
glebourn  is  too  far,  I  should  say." 

"  What  does  it  matter  to  me  ?  " 

"  Oh,  you're  tired  of  her !  I  see.  Perhaps  it  wont  be 
too  far,  then." 

"  Tired  of  her !  who  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Ha,  ha ! "  said  Mr.  Wurley,  looking  up  from  the  table 
over  which  he  was  leaning,  for  he  went  on  knocking  the 
balls  about ;  "  devilish  well  acted.  But  you  needn't  try 
to  come  the  old  soldier  over  me.  D — n  it,  I'm  not  such  a 
fool  as  that." 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  coming  the  old  sol- 
dier. I  only  asked  you  to  let  the  cottage,  and  I  will  be 
responsible  for  the  rent.  I'll  pay  in  advance  if  you 
like." 

"  Yes,  you  want  me  to  let  the  cottage  for  you  to  put  in 
this  girl." 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,"  said  Tom,  interrupting  him,  and 
scarcely  able  to  keep  his  temper,  "  I  told  you  it  was  for 
this  young  Winburn." 

"  Of  course  you  told  me  so.     Ha,  ha ! " 

"  And  you  don't  believe  me  ?  " 

"  Come  now,  all's  fair  in  love  and  war.  But,  d — n  it, 
you  needn't  be  mealy-mouthed  with  me.  You  don't  mind 
his  living  there;  he's  away  at  work  all  day,  eh?  and  his 
wife  stays  at  home." 

"  Mr.  Wurley,  I  give  you  my  honor  I  never  saw  the 
girl  in  my  life  that  I  know  of,  and  I  don't  know  that  she 
will  marry  him." 

"  What  did  you  talk  about  your  friend  for,  then  ?  "  said 
Mr.  Wurley,  stopping  and  staring  at  Tom,  curiosity  begin- 
ning to  mingle  with  his  look  of  cunning  unbelief. 

"  Because  I  meant  just  what  I  said." 

"  And  the  friend,  then  ?  " 


1G8  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  have  told  you  several  times  that  this  young  Win- 
burn  is  the  man." 

"  What,  your  friend?  " 

"  Yes,  my  friend,"  said  Tom ;  and  he  felt  himself  get- 
ting red  at  having  to  call  Harry  his  friend  in  such  com- 
pany. Mr.  Wurley  looked  at  him  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  took  his  leg  off  the  billiard  table,  and  came  round  to 
Tom  with  the  sort  of  patronizing  air  with  which  he  had 
lectured  him  on  billiards. 

"  I  say,  Brown,  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of  advice,"  he  said. 
"  You're  a  young  fellow,  and  haven't  seen  any  thing  of  the 
world.  Oxford's  all  very  well,  but  it  isn't  the  world. 
Now  I  tell  you,  a  young  fellow  can't  do  himself  greater 
harm  than  getting  into  low  company  and  talking  as  you 
have  been  talking.  D — n  it,  man,  it  might  ruin  you  in 
the  county  !  That  sort  of  radical  stuff  wont  do,  you  know, 
calling  a  farm  laborer  your  friend." 

Tom  chafed  at  this  advice  from  a  man  who  he  well 
knew  was  notoriously  in  the  habit  of  entertaining  at  his 
house,  and  living  familiarly  with,  betting  men,  and  train- 
ers, and  all  the  riff-raff  of  the  turf.  But  he  restrained 
himself  by  a  considerable  effort,  and  instead  of  retorting, 
as  he  felt  inclined  to  do,  said,  with  an  attempt  to  laugh  it 
off,  "Thank  you,  I  don't  think  there's  much  fear  of  my 
turning  radical.     But  will  you  let  me  the  cottage?" 

"  My  agent  manages  all  that.  We  talked  about  pulling 
it  down.  The  cottage  is  in  my  preserves,  and  I  don't  mean 
to  have  some  poaching  fellow  there  to  be  sneaking  out  at 
night  after  my  pheasants." 

"  But  his  grandfather  and  great-grandfather  lived  there." 

"  I  dare  say,  but  it's  my  cottage." 

"  But  surely,  that  gives  him  a  claim  to  it." 

"  D — n  it !  it's  my  cottage.  You're  not  going  to  tell 
me  I  mayn't  do  what  I  like  with  it,  I  suppose  ?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  1G9 

"  I  only  said  that  his  family,  having  lived  there  so  long, 
gives  him  a  claim." 

"  A  claim  to  what  ?  These  are  some  more  of  your 
cursed  radical  notions.  I  think  they  might  teach  you 
something  better  at  Oxford." 

Tom  was  now  perfectly  cool,  but  withal  in  such  a  tre- 
mendous fury  of  excitement  that  he  forgot  the  interests  of 
his  client  altogether. 

"  I  came  here,  sir,"  he  said,  very  quietly  and  slowly, 
"  not  to  request  your  advice  on  my  own  account,  or  your 
opinion  on  the  studies  of  Oxford,  valuable  as  no  doubt 
they  are  :  I  came  to  ask  you  to  let  this  cottage  to  me,  and 
I  wish  to  have  your  answer." 

"  I'll  be  d — d  if  I  do ;  there's  my  answer." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Tom  ;  "  then  I  have  only  to  wish 
you  good-morning.  I  am  sorry  to  have  wasted  a  day  in 
the  company  of  a  man  who  sets  up  for  a  country  gentle- 
man with  the  tongue  of  a  Thames  bargee,  and  the  heart 
of  a  Jew  pawnbroker." 

Mr.  Wurley  rushed  to  the  bell  and  rang  it  furiously. 
"  By  — ! "  he  almost  screamed,  shaking  his  fist  at  Tom, 
"  I'll  have  you  horsewhipped  out  of  my  house  ; "  and  then 
poured  forth  a  flood  of  uncomplimentary  slang,  ending  in 
another  pull  at  the  bell,  and  "  By  —  I'll  have  you  horse- 
whipped out  of  my  house." 

"You  had  better  try  it  on — you  and  your  flunkies 
together,"  said  Tom,  taking  a  cigar-case  out  of  his  pocket 
and  lighting  up,  the  most  defiant  and  exasperating  action 
he  could  think  of  on  the  spur  of  the  moment.  "  Here's 
one  of  them,  so  I'll  leave  you  to  give  him  his  orders,  and 
wait  five  minutes  in  the  hall,  where  there's  more  room." 
And  so,  leaving  the  footman  gaping  at  his  lord,  he  turned 
on  his  heel,  with  the  air  of  Bernardo  del  Carpio  after  ha 
had  bearded  King  Alphonso,  and  walked  into  the  hall. 
15 


170  TOM   BKOWN   AT   OXFORD. 

He  heard  men  running  to  and  fro,  and  doors  banging, 
as  he  stood  there  looking  at  the  old  buff-coats,  and  rather 
thirsting  for  a  fight.  Presently  a  door  opened,  and  the 
portly  butler  shuffled  in,  looking  considerably  embarrassed, 
and  said,  — 

"  Please,  sir,  to  go  out  quiet,  else  he'll  be  having  one 
of  his  fits." 

"  Your  master,  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  the  butler,  nodding  ;  "  D.  T.,  sir.  After 
one  of  his  rages  the  black  dog  comes,  and  it's  hawful 
work  ;  so  I  hope  you'll  go,  sir." 

"  Very  well ;  of  course  I'll  go.  I  don't  want  to  give 
him  a  fit."  Saying  which,  Tom  walked  out  of  the 
hall-door,  and  leisurely  round  to  the  stables,  where  he 
found  already  signs  of  commotion.  Without  regarding 
them,  he  got  his  horse  saddled  and  bridled,  and  after  look- 
ing him  over  carefully,  and  patting  him,  and  feeling  his 
girths,  in  the  yard,  in  the  presence  of  a  cluster  of  retain- 
ers of  one  sort  or  another,  who  were  gathering  from  the 
house  and  offices,  and  looking  sorely  puzzled  whether  to 
commence  hostilities  or  not,  mounted  and  walked  quietly 
out. 

After  his  anger  had  been  a  little  cooled  by  the  fresh 
air  of  the  wild  country  at  the  back  of  the  Hawk's  Lynch, 
which  he  struck  into  on  his  way  home  soon  after  leaving 
the  park,  it  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that,  however  satis- 
factory to  himself  the  results  of  his  encounter  with  this 
unjust  landlord  might  seem,  they  would  probably  prove 
any  thing  but  agreeable  to  the  would-be  tenant,  Harry 
Winburn.  In  fact,  as  he  meditated  on  the  matter,  it  be- 
came clear  to  him  that  in  the  course  of  one  morning  he 
had  probably  exasperated  old  Simon  against  his  aspirant 
son-in-law,  and  put  a  serious  spoke  in  Harry's  love-wheel 
on  the  one  hand ;  while  on  the  other,  he  had  insured  his 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  171 

speedy  expulsion  from  his  cottage,  if  not  the  demolition  of 
that  building.  Whereupon  he  became  somewhat  low  un- 
der the  conviction  that  his  friendship,  which  was  to  work 
such  wonders  for  the  said  Harry,  and  deliver  him  out  of 
all  his  troubles,  had  as  yet  only  made  his  whole  look-out 
in  the  world  very  much  darker  and  more  dusty.  In  short, 
as  yet  he  had  managed  to  do  considerably  less  than  noth- 
ing for  his  friend,  and  he  felt  very  small  before  he  got 
home  that  evening.  He  was  far,  however,  from  being 
prepared  for  the  serious  way  in  which  his  father  looked 
upon  his  day's  proceedings.  Mr.  Brown  was  sitting  by 
himself  after  dinner  when  his  son  turned  up,  and ,  had 
to  drink  several  extra  glasses  of  port  to  keep  himself 
decently  composed,  while  Tom  narrated  the  events  of  the 
day  in  the  intervals  of  his  attacks  on  the  dinner,  which 
was  brought  back  for  him.  When  the  servant  had  cleared 
away,  Mr.  Brown  proceeded  to  comment  on  the  history  in 
a  most  decided  manner. 

Tom  was  wrong  to  go  to  the  Grange  in  the  first  in- 
stance ;  and  this  part  of  the  homily  was  amplified  by  a 
discourse  on  the  corruption  of  the  turf  in  general,  and  the 
special  curse  of  small  country  races  in  particular,  which 
such  men  as  Wurley  supported,  and  which,  but  for  them, 
would  cease.  Racing,  which  used  to  be  the  pastime  of 
great  people,  who  could  well  afford  to  spend  a  few  thou- 
sands a  year  on  their  pleasure,  had  now  mostly  fallen  into 
the  hands  of  the  very  worst  and  lowest  men  of  all  classes, 
most  of  whom  would  not  scruple,  as  Mr.  Brown  strongly 
put  it,  to  steal  a  copper  out  of  a  blind  beggar's  hat.  If  he 
must  go,  at  any  rate  he  might  have  done  his  errand  and 
come  away,  instead  of  staying  there  all  day  accepting  the 
man's  hospitality.  Mr.  Brown  himself  really  should  be 
much  embarrassed  to  know  what  to  do  if  the  man  should 
happen  to  attend  the  next  sessions  or  assizes.     But,  abovo 


172  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

all,  having  accepted  his  hospitality,  to  turn  round  at  the 
end  and  insult  the  man  in  his  own  house !  This  seemed 
to  Brown  pere  a  monstrous  and  astounding  performance. 

This  new  way  of  putting  matters  took  Tom  entirely  hy 
surprise.  He  attempted  a  defence,  but  in  vain.  His  fa- 
ther admitted  that  it  would  be  a  hard  case  if  Harry  were 
turned  out  of  his  cottage,  but  wholly  refused  to  listen  to 
Tom's  endeavors  to  prove  that  a  tenant  in  such  a  case  had 
any  claim  or  right  as  against  his  landlord.  A  weekly  ten- 
ant was  a  weekly  tenant,  and  no  succession  of  weeks'  hold- 
ing could  make  him  any  thing  more.  Tom  found  himself 
rushing  into  a  line  of  argument  which  astonished  himself 
and  sounded  wild,  but  in  which  he  felt  sure  there  was 
some  truth,  and  which,  therefore,  he  would  not  abandon, 
though  his  father  was  evidently  annoyed,  and  called  it 
mere  mischievous  sentiment.  Each  was  more  moved  than 
he  would  have  liked  to  own ;  each  in  his  own  heart  felt 
aggrieved,  and  blamed  the  other  for  not  understanding 
him.  But  though  obstinate  on  the  general  question,  upon 
the  point  of  his  conduct  in  leaving  the  Grange,  Tom  was 
fairly  brought  to  shame,  and  gave  in  at  last,  and  ex- 
pressed his  sorrow,  though  he  could  not  help  maintaining 
that  if  his  father  could  have  heard  what  took  place,  and 
seen  the  man's  manner,  he  would  scarcely  blame  him  for 
what  he  had  said  and  done.  Having  once  owned  himself 
in  the  wrong,  however,  there  was  nothing  for  it  but  to 
write  an  apology,  the  composition  of  which  was  as  disa- 
greeable a  task  as  had  ever  fallen  to  his  lot. 


CHAPTER  XL 

Mrjdsv  uyav. 

Has  any  person,  of  any  nation  or  language,  found  out 
and  given  to  the  world  any  occupation,  work,  diversion, 
or  pursuit,  more  subtlely  dangerous  to  the  susceptible 
youth  of  both  sexes  than  that  of  nutting  in  pairs  ?  If  so, 
who  ?  where  ?  what  ?  A  few  years  later  in  life,  perhaps 
district-visiting,  and  attending  schools  together,  may  in 
certain  instances  be  more  fatal ;  but  in  the  first  bright  days 
of  youth,  a  day's  nutting  against  the  world — a  day  in 
autumn,  warm  enough  to  make  sitting  in  sheltered  nooks 
in  the  woods,  where  the  sunshine  can  get  very  pleasant, 
and  yet  not  too  warm  to  make  exercise  uncomfortable — 
two  young  people  who  have  been  thrown  much  together, 
one  of  whom  is  conscious  of  the  state  of  his  feelings 
towards  the  other,  and  is,  moreover,  aware  that  his  hours 
are  numbered,  that  in  a  few  days  at  furthest  they  will  be 
separated  for  many  months,  that  persons  in  authority  on 
both  sides  are  beginning  to  suspect  something  (as  is  ap- 
parent from  the  difficulty  they  have  had  in  getting  away 
together  at  all  on  this  same  afternoon) — here  is  a  conjunc- 
tion of  persons  and  circumstances,  if  ever  there  was  one  in 
the  world,  which  is  surely  likely  to  end  in  a  catastrophe. 
Indeed,  so  obvious  to  the  meanest  capacity  is  the  danger 
of  the  situation  that,  as  Tom  had,  in  his  own  mind,  stated 
his  character  for  resolution  with  his  private  self  on  the 
keeping  of  his  secret  till  after  he  was  of  age,  it  is  hard  to 
conceive  how  he  can  have  been  foolish  enough  to  get 
15* 


174  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

himself  into  a  hazel  copse  alone  with  Miss  Mary  on  the 
earliest  day  he  could  manage  it  after  the  arrival  of  the 
Porters,  on  their  visit  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown.  That  is 
to  say,  it  would  be  hard  to  conceive  if  it  didn't  just  hap- 
pen to  be  the  most  natural  thing  in  the  world. 

For  the  first  twenty-four  hours  after  their  meeting  in 
the  home  of  his  father,  the  two  young  people,  and  Tom  in 
particular,  felt  very  uncomfortable.  Mary,  being  a  young 
lady  of  very  high  spirits,  and,  as  readers  may  probably 
have  discovered,  much  given  to  that  kind  of  conversation 
which  borders  as  nearly  upon  what  men  commonly  call 
chaff  as  a  well-bred  girl  can  venture  on,  was  annoyed  to 
find  herself  quite  at  fault  in  all  her  attempts  to  get  her  old 
antagonist  of  Commemoration  to  show  fight.  She  felt  in 
a  moment  how  changed  his  manner  was,  and  thought  it 
by  no  means  changed  for  the  better.  As  for  Tom,  he  felt 
foolish  and  shy  at  first  to  an  extent  which  drove  him  half 
wild ;  his  words  stuck  in  his  throat,  and  he  took  to  blush- 
ing again  like  a  boy  of  fourteen.  In  fact,  he  got  so  angry 
with  himself  that  he  rather  avoided  her  actual  presence, 
though  she  was  scarcely  a  moment  out  of  his  sight.  Mr. 
Brown  made  the  most  of  his  son's  retreat,  devoted  himself 
most  gallantly  to  Mary,  and  was  completely  captivated  by 
the  first  night  of  their  arrival,  and  triumphed  over  his  wife 
when  they  were  alone  at  the  groundlessness  of  her  sus- 
picions. But  she  was  by  no  means  so  satisfied  on  the 
subject  as  her  husband. 

In  a  day  or  two,  however,  he  began  to  take  heart  of 
grace,  and  to  find  himself  oftener  at  Mary's  side,  with 
something  to  say,  and  more  to  look.  But  now  she,  in  her 
turn,  began  to  be  embarrassed,  for  all  attempts  to  re-es- 
tablish their  old  footing  failed ;  and  the  difficulty  of  find- 
ing a  satisfactory  new  one  remained  to  be  solved — so  for 
the  present,  though  neither  of  them  found  it  quite  satis- 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  175 

factory,  they  took  refuge  in  the  presence  of  a  third  party, 
and  attached  themselves  to  Katie,  talking  at  one  another 
through  her.  Nothing  could  exceed  Katie's  judiciousness 
as  a  medium  of  communication,  and  through  her  a  better 
understanding  began  to  establish  itself,  and  the  visit  which 
both  of  them  had  been  looking  forward  to  so  eagerly, 
seemed  likely,  after  all,  to  be  as  pleasant  in  fact  as  it  had 
been  in  anticipation.  As  they  became  more  at  ease,  the 
vigilance  of  Mrs.  Brown  and  Mrs.  Porter  seemed  likely 
to  revive.  But  in  a  country  house  there  must  be  plenty 
of  chances  for  young  folk  who  mean  it  to  be  together,  and 
so  they  found  and  made  use  of  their  opportunities,  giving 
at  the  same  time  as  little  cause  to  their  natural  guardians  as 
possible  for  any  serious  interference.  The  families  got  on, 
on  the  whole,  so  well  together  that  the  visit  was  prolonged 
from  the  original  four  or  five  days  to  a  fortnight ;  and  this 
time  of  grace  was  drawing  to  a  close  when  the  event  hap- 
pened which  made  the  visit  memorable  to  our  hero. 

On  the  morning  in  question,  Mr.  Brown  arranged  at 
breakfast  that  he  and  his  wife  should  drive  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Porter  to  make  calls  on  several  of  the  neighbors.  Tom 
declared  his  intention  of  taking  a  long  day  after  the  part- 
ridges, and  the  young  ladies  were  to  go  and  make  a  sketch 
of  the  house  from  a  point  which  Katie  had  chosen.  Ac- 
cordingly, directly  after  luncheon  the  carriage  came  round, 
and  the  elders  departed,  and  the  young  ladies  started  to- 
gether, carrying  their  sketching  apparatus  with  them. 

It  was  probably  a  bad  day  for  scent,  for  they  had  not 
been  gone  a  quarter  of  an  hour  when  Tom  came  home, 
deposited  his  gun,  and  followed  on  their  steps.  He  found 
them  sitting  under  the  lee  of  a  high  bank,  sufficiently  in- 
tent on  their  drawings,  but  neither  surprised  nor  sorry  to 
find  that  he  had  altered  his  mind  and  come  back  to  inter- 
rupt them.     80  he  lay  down  near  them,  and  talked  of  Ox- 


176  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

ford  and  Englebourn,  and  so  from  one  thing  to  another, 
till  he  got  upon  the  subject  of  nutting,  and  the  sylvan 
beauties  of  a  neighboring  wood.  Mary  was  getting  on 
badly  with  her  drawing,  and  jumped  at  the  idea  of  a 
ramble  in  the  wood;  but  Katie  was  obdurate,  and  resisted 
all  their  solicitations  to  move.  She  suggested,  however, 
that  they  might  go,  and  as  Tom  declared  that  they  should 
not  be  out  of  call,  and  would  be  back  in  half  an  hour  at 
furthest,  Mary  consented,  and  they  left  the  sketcher,  and 
strolled  together  out  of  the  fields,  and  into  the  road,  and 
so  through  a  gate  into  the  wood.  It  was  a  pleasant  oak 
wood.  The  wild  flowers  were  over,  but  the  great  masses 
of  ferns,  four  or  five  feet  high,  made  a  grand  carpet  round 
the  stems  of  the  forest  monarchs,  and  a  fitting  couch,  for 
here  and  there  one  of  them,  which  had  been  lately  felled, 
and  lay  in  fallen  majesty,  with  bare  shrouded  trunk  await- 
ing the  sawyers.  Further  on  the  hazel  underwood  stood 
thickly  on  each  side  of  the  green  rides,  down  which  they 
sauntered  side  by  side.  Tom  talked  of  the  beauty  of  the 
wood  in  spring-time,  and  the  glorious  succession  of  color- 
ing pale  yellow,  and  deep  blue  and  white,  and  purple, 
which  the  primroses,  and  hyacinths,  and  starwert,  and 
fox-gloves  gave  each  in  their  turn  in  the  early  year,  and 
mourned  over  their  absence.  But  Mary  preferred  au- 
tumn, and  would  not  agree  with  him.  She  was  enthusi- 
astic for  ferns  and  heather.  He  gathered  some  sprigs  of 
the  latter  for  her,  from  a  little  sandy  patch  which  they 
passed,  and  some  more  for  his  own  button-hole  ;  and  then 
they  engaged  in  the  absorbing  pursuit  of  nutting,  and  the 
talk  almost  ceased.  He  caught  the  higher  branches,  and 
bent  them  down  to  her,  and  watched  her  as  she  gathered 
them,  and  wondered  at  the  ease  and  grace  of  all  her 
movements,  and  the  unconscious  beauty  of  her  attitudes. 
Soon  she  became  more  enterprising  herself,  and  made 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  177 

little  excursions  into  the  copse,  surmounting  briers,  and 
passing  through  tangled  places  like  a  Naiad,  before  he 
could  be  there  to  help  her.  And  so  they  went  on,  along 
the  rides  and  through  the  copse,  forgetting  Katie  and 
time,  till  they  were  brought  up  by  the  fence  on  the  fur- 
ther side  of  the  wood.  The  ditch  was  on  the  outside,  and 
on  the  inside  a  bank  with  a  hedge  on  the  top,  full  of 
tempting  hazel  bushes.  She  clapped  her  hands  at  the 
sight,  and  declining  his  help,  stepped  lightly  up  the  bank, 
and  began  gathering.  He  turned  away  for  a  moment, 
jumped  up  the  bank  himself,  and  followed  her  example. 

He  was  standing  up  in  the  hedge,  and  reaching  after  a 
tempting  cluster  of  nuts,  when  he  heard  a  short,  sharp  cry 
of  pain  behind  him,  which  made  him  spring  backwards, 
and  nearly  miss  his  footing  as  he  came  to  the  ground. 
Recovering  himself,  and  turning  round,  he  saw  Mary 
lying  at  the  foot  of  the  bank,  writhing  in  pain. 

He  was  at  her  side  in  an  instant,  and  dreadfully 
alarmed. 

"  Good  heavens  !  what  has  happened  ?  "  he  said. 

"  My  ankle  !  "  she  cried ;  and  the  effort  of  speaking 
brought  the  sudden  flush  of  pain  to  her  brow. 

"  Oh  !  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

"  The  boot !  the  boot !  "  she  said,  leaning  forward  to  un- 
lace it,  and  then  sinking  back  against  the  bank.  "  It  is  so 
painful !     I  hope  I  sha'n't  faint." 

Poor  Tom  could  only  clasp  his  hands  as  he  knelt  by 
her,  and  repeat,  "  Oh,  what  can  I  do  —  what  can  I  do  ?  " 

His  utter  bewilderment  presently  roused  Mary,  and  her 
natural  high  courage  was  beginning  to  master  the  pain. 

"  Have  you  a  knife  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  here,"  he  said,  pulling  one  out  of  his  pocket, 
and  opening  it ;  "  here  it  is." 

"  Please  cut  the  lace." 


178  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Tom  with  beating  heart  and  trembling  hand,  cut  the 
lace,  and  then  looked  up  at  her. 

"  Oh,  be  quick  —  cut  it  again  ;  don't  be  afraid." 

He  cut  it  again ;  and  without  taking  hold  of  the  foot, 
gently  pulled  out  the  ends  of  the  lace. 

She  again  leaned  forward,  and  tried  to  take  off  the 
boot.  But  the  pain  was  too  great,  and  she  sank  back, 
and  put  her  hand  up  to  her  flushed  face. 

"  May  I  try  ?  —  perhaps  I  could  do  it." 

"  Yes,  pray  do.  Oh,  I  can't  bear  the  pain  ! "  she  added, 
next  moment ;  and  Tom  felt  ready  to  hang  himself  for 
having  been  the  cause  of  it. 

"  You  must  cut  the  boot  off",  please." 

"  But  perhaps  I  may  cut  you.  Do  you  really  mean 
it?" 

"  Yes,  really.  There,  take  care.  How  your  hand 
shakes.     You  will  never  do  for  a  doctor." 

His  hand  did  shake  certainly.  He  had  cut  a  little  hole 
in  the  stocking ;  but,  under  the  circumstances,  we  need  not 
wonder  —  the  situation  was  new  and  trying.  Urged  on 
by  her,  he  cut  and  cut  away,  and,  at  last,  off  came  the 
boot,  and  her  beautiful  little  foot  lay  on  the  green  turf. 
She  was  much  relieved  at  once,  but  still  in  great  pain  ; 
and  now  he  began  to  recover  his  head. 

"  The  ankle  should  be  bound  up  ;  may  I  try  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  but  what  with  ?  " 

Tom  dived  into  his  shooting-coat  pocket,  and  produced 
one  of  the  large  many-colored  neck-wrappers  which  were 
fashionable  at  Oxford  in  those  days. 

"  How  lucky,"  he  said,  as  he  tore  it  into  strips.  "  I 
think  this  will  do.  Now,  you'll  stop  me,  wont  you,  if  I 
hurt,  or  don't  do  it  right  ?  " 

"  Don't  be  afraid  ;  I'm  much  better.  Bind  it  tight  — ■ 
tighter  than  that." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  179 

He  wound  the  strips  as  tenderly  as  he  could  round  her 
foot  and  ankle,  with  hands  all  alive  with  nerves,  and  won- 
dering more  and  more  at  her  courage,  as  she  kept  urging 
him  to  draw  the  bandage  tighter  yet.  Then,  still  under 
her  direction,  he  fastened  and  pinned  down  the  ends ;  and 
as  he  was  rather  neat  with  his  fingers,  from  the  practice 
of  tying  flies  and  splicing  rods  and  bats,  produced,  on  the 
whole,  a  creditable  sort  of  bandage.  Then  be  looked  up 
at  her,  the  perspiration  standing  on  his  forehead,  as  if  he 
had  been  pulling  a  race,  and  said,  — 

"  Will  that  do  ?  I'm  afraid  it's  very  awkward." 

"  Oh,  no  ;  thank  you  so  much  !  But  I'm  so  sorry  you 
have  torn  your  handkerchief." 

Tom  made  no  answer  to  this  remark,  except  by  a  look. 
What  could  he  say,  but  that  he  would  gladly  have  torn 
his  skin  off  for  the  same  purpose,  if  it  would  have  been  of 
any  use  ;  but  this  speech  did  not  seem  quite  the  thing  for 
the  moment. 

"  But  how  do  you  feel  ?   Is  it  very  painful  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Rather.  But  don't  look  so  anxious.  Indeed,  it  is 
very  bearable.     But  what  are  we  to  do  now  ?  " 

He  thought  for  a  moment,  and  said,  with  something  like 
a  sigh,  — 

"  Shall  I  run  home,  and  bring  the  servants  and  a  sofa, 
or  something  to  carry  you  on  ?  " 

"  No,  I  shouldn't  like  to  be  left  here  alone." 

His  face  brightened  again. 

"  How  near  is  the  nearest  cottage  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  There's  none  nearer  than  the  one  which  we  passed  on 
the  road,  on  the  other  side  of  the  wood,  you  know." 

"Then  I  must  try  to  get  there.  You  must  help  me 
up." 

lie  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stooped  over  her,  doubting 


180  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFOltD. 

how  to  begin  helping  her.  He  had  never  felt  so  shy  in 
his  life.     He  held  out  his  hands. 

"  I  think  you  must  put  your  arm  round  me,"  she  said, 
after  looking  at  him  for  a  moment.  Her  woman's  instinct 
was  satisfied  with  the  look.  He  lifted  her  on  to  her 
feet. 

"  Now,  let  me  lean  on  your  arm.  There,  I  dare  say  I 
shall  manage  to  hobble  along  well  enough  ; "  and  she  made 
a  brave  attempt  to  walk.  But  the  moment  the  injured 
foot  touched  the  ground,  she  stopped  with  a  catch  of  her 
breath,  and  a  shiver,  which  went  through  Tom  like  a 
knife ;  and  the  flush  came  back  into  her  face,  and  she 
would  have  fallen  had  he  not  again  put  his  arm  round 
her  waist,  and  held  her  up.  "  I  am  better  again  now," 
she  said,  after  a  second  or  two. 

"  But  Mary,  dear  Mary,  don't  try  to  walk  again,  for  my 
sake.     I  can't  bear  it." 

"  But  what  am  I  to  do  ?  "  she  said.  "  I  must  get  back 
somehow." 

"  Will  you  let  me  carry  you  ?  " 

She  looked  in  his  face  again,  and  then  dropped  her 
eyes,  and  hesitated. 

"  I  wouldn't  offer,  dear,  if  there  were  any  other  way. 
But  you  must  n't  walk;  indeed,  you  must  not;  you  may 
lame  yourself  for  life." 

He  spoke  very  quietly,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  though  his  heart  was  beating  so  that  he  feared 
she  would  hear  it. 

"  Very  well,"  she  said ;  "  but  I'm  very  heavy." 

So  he  lifted  her  gently,  and  stepped  off  down  the  ride, 
carrying  his  whole  world  in  his  arms,  in  an  indescribable 
flutter  of  joy  and  triumph  and  feai\  He  had  gone  some 
forty  yards  or  so,  when  he  staggered,  and  stopped  for  a 
moment. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  181 

"  Oh,  pray  put  me  down  —  pray  do  !  You'll  hurt  your- 
self.    I'm  too  heavy." 

For  the  credit  of*  muscular  Christianity,  one  must  say, 
that  it  was  not  her  weight,  but  the  tumult  in  his  own  inner 
man  which  made  her  bearer  totter.  Nevertheless,  if  one 
is  wholly  unused  to  the  exercise,  the  carrying  a  healthy 
young  English  girl  weighing  hard  on  eight  stone,  is  as 
much  as  most  men  can  conveniently  manage. 

"  I'll  just  put  you  down  for  a  moment,"  he  said.  "  Now 
take  care  of  the  foot ; "  and  he  stooped,  and  placed  her 
tenderly  against  one  of  the  oaks  which  bordered  the  ride, 
standing  by  her  side  without  looking  at  her.  Neither  of 
them  spoke  for  a  minute.  Then  he  asked,  still  looking 
away  down  the  ride,  "  How  is  the  foot  ?  " 

"  Oh,  pretty  well,"  she  answered,  cheerfully.  "  Now, 
leave  me  here,  and  go  for  help.  It  is  absurd  of  me  to 
mind  being  left ;  and  you  mustn't  carry  me  any  more." 

He  turned,  and  their  eyes  met  for  a  moment,  but  that 
was  enough. 

"  Are  you  ready  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes  ;  but  take  care.  Don't  go  far.  Stop  directly  you 
feel  tired." 

Then  he  lifted  her  again,  and  this  time  carried  her  with- 
out faltering,  till  they  came  to  a  hillock  covered  with  soft 
grass.  Here  they  rested  again;  and  so  by  easy  stages  he 
carried  her  through  the  wood,  and  out  into  the  road,  to  the 
nearest  cottage,  neither  of  them  speaking. 

An  old  woman  came  to  the  door  in  answer  to  his  kick, 
and  went  off  into  ejaculations  of  pity  and  wonder  in  the 
broadest  Berkshire,  at  seeing  Master  Tom  and  his  burden. 
But  he  pushed  into  the  house  and  cut  her  short  with, — 

"  Now,  Mrs.  Pike,  don't  talk,  that's  a  dear  good  woman, 
but  bustle  about,  and  bring  that  arm-chair  here,  and  the 
1G 


182  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

other  low  one,  with  a  pillow  on  it,  for  the  young  lady's 
foot  to  rest  on." 

The  old  woman  obeyed  his  injunctions,  except  as  to 
talking ;  and  while  she  placed  the  chairs  and  shook  up  the 
pillow,  descanted  on  the  sovereign  virtues  of  some  green 
oil  and  opodeldoc,  which  was  as  good  as  a  charm  for 
sprains  and  bruises. 

Mary  gave  him  one  grateful  look  as  he  lowered  her 
tenderly  and  reluctantly  into  the  chair,  and  then  spoke 
cheerfully  to  Mrs.  Pike,  who  was  foraging  in  a  cupboard, 
to  find  if  there  was  any  of  her  famous  specific  in  the  bot- 
tom of  the  bottle.  As  he  stood  up,  and  thought  what  to 
do  next,  he  heard  the  sound  of  distant  wheels,  and  look- 
ing through  the  window  saw  the  carriage  coming  home- 
wards.    It  was  a  sorrowful  sight  to  him. 

"Now,  Mrs.  Pike,"  he  said,  "never  mind  the  oil. 
Here's  the  carriage  coming ;  just  step  out  and  stop  it." 

The  old  dame  scuttled  out  into  the  road.  The  carriage 
was  within  one  hundred  yards.  He  leaned  over  the  rough 
arm-chair  in  which  she  was  leaning  back,  looked  once 
more  into  her  eyes ;  and  then,  stooping  forwards,  kissed 
her  lips,  and  the  next  moment  was  by  the  side  of  Mrs. 
Pike,  signalling  the  coachman  to  stop. 

In  the  bustle  which  followed  he  stood  aside,  and  watched 
Mary  with  his  heart  in  his  mouth.  She  never  looked  at 
him,  but  there  was  no  anger,  but  only  a  dreamy  look  in 
her  sweet  face,  which  seemed  to  him  a  thousand  times 
more  beautiful  than  ever  before.  Then  to  avoid  inquiries 
and  to  realize  all  that  had  passed  in  the  last  wonderful 
three  hours,  he  slipped  away  while  they  were  getting  her 
into  the  carriage,  and  wandered  back  into  the  wood,  paus- 
ing at  each  of  their  halting-places.  At  last,  he  reached 
the  scene  of  the  accident,  and  here  his  cup  of  happiness 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  183 

was  likely  to  brim  over,  for  he  found  the  mangled  little 
boot  and  the  cut  lace,  and  securing  the  precious  prize, 
hurried  back  home,  to  be  in  time  for  dinner. 

Mary  did  not  come  down,  but  Katie,  the  only  person 
of  whom  he  dared  to  inquire,  assured  him  that  she  was 
doing  famously.  The  dinner  was  very  embarrassing,  and 
he  had  the  greatest  difficulty  in  answering  the  searching 
inquiries  of  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Porter,  as  to  how,  when, 
where,  and  in  whose  presence  the  accident  had  happened. 
As  aoon  as  the  ladies  rose,  he  left  his  father  and  Mr.  Por- 
ter over  their  old  port  and  politics,  and  went  out  in  the 
twilight  into  the  garden,  burdened  with  the  weight  of 
sweet  thought.  He  felt  that  he  had  something  to  do  —  to 
set  himself  quite  right  with  Mary ;  he  must  speak  some- 
how, that  night,  if  possible,  or  he  should  not  be  comfort- 
able or  at  peace  with  his  conscience.  There  were  lights 
in  her  room.  He  guessed  by  the  shadows  that  she  was 
lying  on  a  couch  by  the  open  window,  round  which  the 
other  ladies  were  flitting.  Presently  lights  appeared  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  as  the  shutters  were  being  closed 
he  saw  his  mother  and  Mrs.  Porter  come  in,  and  sit  down 
near  the  fire.  Listening  intently,  he  heard  Katie  talking 
in  a  low  voice  in  the  room  above,  and  saw  her  head 
against  the  light  as  she  sat  down  close  to  the  window, 
probably  at  the  head  of  the  couch  where  Mary  was  lying. 
Should  he  call  to  her  ?  If  he  did  how  could  he  say  what 
he  wanted  to  say  through  her? 

A  happy  thought  struck  him.  lie  turned  to  the  flower- 
beds, hunted  about,  and  gathered  a  bunch  of  heliotrope, 
hurried  up  to  his  room,  took  the  sprig  of  heather  out  of 
his  shooting-coat,  tied  them  together,  caught  up  a  reel  and 
line  from  his  table,  and  went  into  the  room  over  Mary's. 
Ho  threw  the  window  open,  and  leaning  out  said  gently, 


184  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Katie."  No  answer.  He  repeated  the  name  loudei. 
No  answer  still,  and  leaning  out  yet  further  he  saw  that 
the  window  had  been  shut.  He  lowered  the  bunch  of 
flowers,  and  swinging  it  backwards  and  forwards  made 
it  strike  the  window  below  —  once,  twice;  at  the  third 
stroke  he  heard  the  window  open. 

"  Katie,"  he  whispered  again,  "  is  that  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  where  are  you  ?     What  is  this  ?  " 

"  For  her,"  he  said  in  the  same  whisper.  Katie  untied 
the  flowers,  and  he  waited  a  few  moments,  and  then  again 
called  her  name,  and  she  answered. 

"  Has  she  the  flowers  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  she  sends  you  her  love,  and  says  you  are  to 
go  down  to  the  drawing-room ; "  and  with  that  the  win- 
dow closed,  and  he  went  down  with  a  lightened  conscience 
into  the  drawing-room,  and  after  joining  in  the  talk  by  the 
fire  for  a  few  minutes,  took  a  book,  and  sat  down  at  the 
further  side  of  the  table.  Whether  he  ever  knew  what 
the  book  was  may  be  fairly  questioned,  but  to  all  appear- 
ances he  was  deep  in  the  perusal  of  it  till  the  tea  and 
Katie  arrived,  and  the  gentlemen  from  the  dining-room. 
Then  he  tried  to  join  in  the  conversation  again,  but,  on 
the  whole,  life  was  a  burden  to  him  that  night  till  he  could 
get  fairly  away  to  his  own  room,  and  commune  with  him- 
self, gazing  at  the  yellow  harvest  moon  with  his  elbows  on 
the  window-sill. 

The  ankle  got  well  very  quickly,  and  Mary  was  soon 
going  about  with  a  gold-headed  stick  which  had  belonged 
to  Mr.  Brown's  father,  and  a  limp  which  Tom  thought  the 
most  beautiful  movement  he  had  ever  seen.  But  though 
she  was  about  again,  by  no  amount  of  patient  vigilance 
could  he  now  get  the  chance  of  speaking  to  her  alone. 
But  he  consoled  himself  with  the  thought  that  she  must 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  185 

understand  him ;  if  he  had  spoken,  he  couldn't  have  made 
himself  cleai'er. 

And  now  the  Porters'  visit  was  all  but  over,  and  Katie 
and  her  father  left  for  Englebourn.  The  Porters  were  to 
follow  the  next  day,  and  promised  to  drive  round  and  stop 
at  the  Rectory  for  lunch.  Tom  petitioned  for  a  seat  in 
their  carnage  to  Englebourn.  He  had  been  devoting 
himself  to  Mrs.  Porter  ever  since  the  accident,  and  had 
told  her  a  good  deal  about  his  own  early  life.  His  account 
of  his  early  friendship  for  Betty  and  her  son,  and  the  re- 
newal of  it  on  the  day  he  left  Barton  Manor,  had  inter- 
ested her,  and  she  was  moreover  not  insensible  to  his  as- 
siduous and  respectful  attentions  to  herself,  which  had  of 
late  been  quite  marked :  she  was  touched,  too,  at  his 
anxiety  to  hear  all  about  her  boys,  and  how  they  were 
going  on  at  school.  So  on  the  whole  Tom  was  in  high 
favor  with  her,  and  she  most  graciously  assented  to  his 
occupying  the  fourth  seat  in  their  barouche.  She  was  not 
without  her  suspicions  of  the  real  state  of  the  cabe  with 
him,  but  his  behavior  had  been  so  discreet  that  she  had 
no  immediate  fears,  and  after  all,  if  any  thing  should  come 
of  it  some  years  hence,  her  daughter  might  do  worse.  In 
the  mean  time  she  would  see  plenty  of  society  in  London  ; 
where  Mr.  Porter's  vocations  kept  him  during  the  greater 
part  of  the  year. 

They  reached  Englebourn  after  a  pleasant  long  morn- 
ing's drive ;  and  Tom  stole  a  glance  at  Mary,  and  felt  that 
she  understood  him,  as  he  pointed  out  the  Hawk's  Lynch 
and  the  clump  of  Scotch  firs  to  her  mother ;  and  told  how 
you  might  see  Barton  from  the  top  of  it,  and  how  he  loved 
the  place,  and  the  old  trees,  and  the  view. 

Katie  was  at  the  door  ready  to  receive  them,  and  car- 
ried off  Mary  and  Mrs.  Porter  to  her  own  room.  Tom 
16* 


186  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

walked  round  the  garden  with  Mr.  Porter,  and  then  sat  in 
the  drawing-room,  and  felt  melancholy.  He  roused  him- 
self, however,  when  the  ladies  came  down  and  luncheon 
was  announced.  Mary  was  full  of  her  reminiscences  of  the 
Englebourn  people,  and  especially  of  poor  Mrs.  Winbura 
and  her  son,  in  whom  she  had  begun  to  take  a  deep  inter- 
est, perhaps  from  overhearing  some  of  Tom's  talk  to  her 
mother.  So  Harry's  story  was  canvassed  again,  and 
Katie  told  them  how  he  had  been  turned  out  of  his  cot- 
tage, and  how  anxious  she  was  as  to  what  would  come  of 
it. 

"  And  is  he  going  to  marry  your  gardener's  daughter 
after  all  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Porter. 

"I  am  afraid  there  is  not  much  chance  of  it,"  said 
Katie ;  "  I  cannot  make  Martha  out." 

"  Is  she  at  home,  Katie  ?  "  asked  Mary ;  "  I  should  like 
to  see  her  again.  I  took  a  great  fancy  to  see  her  when  I 
was  here." 

"  Yes,  she  is  at  the  lodge.  We  will  walk  there  after 
luncheon." 

So  it  was  settled  that  the  carriage  should  pick  them  up 
at  the  lodge ;  and  soon  after  luncheon,  while  the  horses 
were  being  put  to,  the  whole  party  started  for  the  lodge 
after  saying  good-by  to  Mr.  Winter,  who  retired  to  his 
room  much  fatigued  by  his  unwonted  hospitality. 

Old  Simon's  wife  answered  their  knock  at  the  lodge 
door,  and  they  all  entered,  and  Mrs.  Porter  paid  her  com- 
pliments on  the  cleanliness  of  the  room. 

Then  Mary  said,  "  Is  your  daughter  at  home,  Mrs.  Gib- 
bons ?  " 

"  Ees,  miss,  someweres  handy,"  replied  Mrs.  Gibbons  ; 
"  her  hav'n't  been  gone  out  not  dree  minutes." 

"  I   should  like  so  much  to  say  good-by  to  her,"  said 


TOM   BEOWN   AT    OXFORD.  187 

Mary.  "  We  shall  be  leaving  Barton  soon,  and  I  shall 
not  see  her  again  till  next  summer." 

"  Lor  bless'ee,  miss,  'tis  werry  good  ov  ee,"  said  the  old 
dame  very  proud ;  "  do'ee  set  down  then  while  I  gives  her 
a  call."  And  with  that  she  hurried  out  of  the  door  which 
led  through  the  back  kitchen  into  the  little  yard  behind 
the  lodge,  and  the  next  moment  they  heard  her  calling 
out, — 

"  Patty,  Patty,  whar  bist  got  to  ?  Come  in,  and  see  the 
gentle-folk." 

The  name  which  the  old  woman  was  calling  out  made 
Tom  start. 

"  I  thought  you  said  her  name  was  Martha,"  said  Mrs. 
Porter. 

"  Patty  is  short  for  Martha  in  Berkshire,"  said  Katie, 
laughing. 

"  And  Patty  is  such  a  pretty  name,  I  wonder  you  don't 
call  her  Patty,"  said  Mary. 

"  "We  had  a  housemaid  of  the  same  name  a  year  or  two 
ago,  and  it  made  such  a  confusion  —  and  when  one  once 
gets  used  to  a  name  it  is  so  hard  to  change  —  so  she  has 
always  been  called  Martha." 

"  Well,  I'm  all  for  Tatty;  don't  you  think  so?"  said 
Mary,  turning  to  Tom. 

The  sudden  introduction  of  a  name  which  he  had  such 
reasons  for  remembering,  the  memories  and  fears  which  it 
called  up,  above  all,  the  bewilderment  which  he  felt  at 
hearing  it  tossed  about  and  canvassed  by  Mary  in  his 
presence,  as  if  there  were  nothing  more  in  it  than  in  any 
other  name,  confused  him  so  that  he  floundered  and  blun- 
dered in  his  attempt  to  answer,  and  at  last  gave  it  up  al- 
together. She  was  surprised,  and  looked  at  him  inquir- 
ingly.    His  eyes  fell  before  hers,  and  he  turned  away  to 


188  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

the  window,  and  looked  at  the  carriage,  which  had  just 
drawn  up  at  the  lodge  door.  He  had  scarcely  time  to 
think  how  foolish  he  was  to  be  so  moved,  when  he 
heard  the  back-kitchen  door  opened  again,  and  the  old  wo- 
man and  her  daughter  come  in.  He  turned  round  sharply, 
and  there  on  the  floor  of  the  room,  courtesying  to  the 
ladies,  stood  the  ex-barmaid  of  the  Choughs.  His  first 
impulse  was  to  hurry  away,  she  was  looking  down,  and  he 
might  not  be  recognized ;  his  next  to  stand  his  ground, 
and  take  whatever  might  come.  Mary  went  up  to  her 
and  took  her  hand,  saying  that  she  could  not  go  away  with- 
out coming  to  see  her.  Patty  looked  up  to  answer,  and 
glancing  round  the  room  caught  sight  of  him. 

He  stepped  forward,  and  then  stopped  and  tried  to 
speak,  but  no  words  would  come.  Patty  looked  at  him, 
dropped  Mary's  hand,  blushed  up  to  the  roots  of  her  hair 
as  she  looked  timidly  round  at  the  wondering  spectators, 
and,  putting  her  hands  to  her  face,  ran  out  of  the  back- 
door again. 

"  Lawk  a  massy !  what  ever  can  ha'  cum  to  our  Patty?" 
said  Mrs.  Gibbons,  following  her  out. 

"  I  think  we  had  better  go,"  said  Mr.  Porter,  giving  his 
arm  to  his  daughter,  and  leading  her  to  the  door.  "  Good- 
by,  Katie ;  shall  we  see  you  again  at  Barton  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  uncle,"  Katie  answered,  following  with 
Mrs.  Porter,  in  a  state  of  sad  bewilderment. 

Tom,  with  his  brain  swimming,  got  out  a  few  stammer- 
ing farewell  words,  which  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter  received 
with  marked  coldness  as  they  stepped  into  their  carriage. 
Mary's  face  was  flushed  and  uneasy,  but  at  her  he  scarcely 
dared  to  steal  a  look,  and  to  her  was  quite  unable  to  speak 
a  word. 

Then  the  carriage  drove  off",  and  he  turned,  and  found 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  18D 

Katie  standing  at  his  side,  her  eyes  full  of  serious  wonder. 
His  fell  before  them. 

"  My  dear  Tom,"  she  said,  "what  is  all  this  ?  I  thought 
you  had  never  seen  Martha  ?  " 

"  So  I  thought  —  I  didn't  know  —  I  can't  talk  now  — 
I'll  explain  all  to  you  —  don't  think  very  badly  of  me, 
Katie  —  God  bless  you  ! "  with  which  words  he  strode 
away,  while  she  looked  after  him  with  increasing  wonder 
and  then  turned  and  went  into  the  lodge. 

He  hastened  away  from  the  Rectory  and  down  the  vil- 
lage street,  taking  the  road  home  mechanically,  but  other- 
wise wholly  unconscious  of  roads  and  men.  David,  who 
was  very  anxious  to  speak  to  him  about  Harry,  stood  at 
his  door  making  signs  to  him  to  stop  in  vain,  and  then 
gave  chase,  calling  out  after  him,  till  he  saw  that  all  at- 
tempts to  attract  his  notice  were  useless,  and  so  ambled 
back  to  his  shop-board  much  troubled  in  mind. 

The  first  object  which  recalled  Tom  at  all  to  himself 
was  the  little  white  cottage  looking  out  of  Englebourn 
Copse  towards  the  village,  in  which  he  had  sat  by  poor 
Betty's  death-bed.  The  garden  was  already  getting  wild 
and  tangled,  and  the  house  seemed  to  be  uninhabited.  He 
stopped  for  a  moment  and  looked  at  it  with  bitter  search- 
ings  of  heart.  Here  was  the  place  where  he  had  taken 
such  a  good  turn  as  he  had  fondly  hoped,  in  connection 
with  the  then  inmates  of  which  he  had  made  the  strongest 
good  resolutions  he  had  ever  made  in  his  life  perhaps. 
What  was  the  good  of  his  trying  to  befriend  anybody ; 
his  friendship  turned  to  a  blight ;  whatever  he  had  as  yet 
tried  to  do  for  Harry  had  only  injured  him,  and  now  how 
did  they  stand  ?  Could  they  ever  be  friends  again  after 
that  day's  discovery  ?  To  do  him  justice,  the  probable 
ruin  of  all  his  own  prospects,  the  sudden  coldness  of  Mr. 


100  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

and  Mrs.  Porter's  looks,  and  Mary's  averted  face,  were 
not  the  things  he  thought  on  first,  and  did  not  trouble  him 
most.  He  thought  of  Harry,  and  shuddered  at  the  wrong 
he  had  done  him  as  he  looked  at  his  deserted  home.  The 
door  opened  and  a  figure  appeared.  It  was  Mr.  Wurley's 
agent,  the  lawyer  who  had  been  employed  by  Farmer 
Tester  in  his  contest  with  Harry  and  his  mates  about  the 
pound.  The  man  of  law  saluted  him  with  a  smirk  of 
scarcely  concealed  triumph,  and  then  turned  into  the 
house  again  and  shut  the  door,  as  if  he  did  not  consider 
further  communication  necessary  or  safe.  Tom  turned 
with  a  muttered  imprecation  on  him  and  his  master,  and 
hurried  away  along  the  lane  which  led  to  the  heath.  The 
Hawk's  Lynch  lay  above  him,  and  he  climbed  the  side 
mechanically  and  sat  himself  again  on  the  old  spot. 

He  sat  for  some  time  looking  over  the  landscape,  graven 
on  his  mind  as  it  was  by  his  former  visit,  and  bitterly,  oh, 
how  bitterly !  did  the  remembrance  of  that  visit,  and  of 
the  exultation  and  triumph  which  then  filled  him,  and 
carried  him  away  over  the  heath  with  a  shout  towards  his 
home,  come  back  on  him.  He  could  look  out  from  his 
watch-tower  no  longer,  and  lay  down  with  his  face  be- 
tween his  hands  on  the  turf,  and  groaned  as  he  lay. 

But  his  good  angel  seemed  to  haunt  the  place,  and 
soon  the  cold  fit  began  to  pass  away,  and  better  and 
more  hopeful  thoughts  to  return.  After  all,  what  had 
he  done  since  his  last  visit  to  that  place  to  be  ashamed 
of?  Nothing.  His  attempts  to  do  Harry  service,  un- 
lucky as  they  had  proved,  had  been  honest.  Had  he 
become  less  worthy  of  the  love  which  had  first  con- 
sciously mastered  him  there  some  four  weeks  ago  ? 
No;  he  felt,  on  the  contrary,  that  it  had  already 
raised  him,  and  purified  him,  and  made  a  man  of  him. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  191 

But  this  last  discovery,  how  could  he  ever  get  over 
that  ?  "Well,  after  all,  the  facts  were  just  the  same  be- 
fore, only  now  they  had  come  out.  It  was  right  that 
they  should  have  come  out ;  better  for  him  and  for  every 
one  that  they  should  be  known  and  faced.  He  was 
ready  to  face  them,  to  abide  any  consequences  that  they 
might  now  bring  in  their  train.  His  heart  was  right 
towards  Mary,  towards  Patty,  towards  Harry,  that  he 
felt  sure  of.  And  if  so,  why  should  he  despair  of  either 
his  love  or  his  friendship  coming  to  a  bad  end  ? 

And  so  he  sat  up  again,  and  looked  out  bravely  towards 
Barton,  and  began  to  consider  what  was  to  be  done.  His 
eyes  rested  on  the  Rectory.  That  was  the  first  place  to 
begin  with.  He  must  set  himself  right  with  Katie ;  let 
her  know  the  whole  story.  Through  her  he  could  reach 
all  the  rest,  and  do  whatever  must  be  done  to  clear  the 
ground  and  start  fresh  again. 

At  first  he  thought  of  returning  to  her  at  once,  and  rose 
to  go  down  to  Englebourn.  But  any  thing  like  retracing 
his  steps  was  utterly  distasteful  to  him  just  then.  Before 
him  he  saw  light,  dim  enough  as  yet,  but  still  a  dawning ; 
towai'ds  that  he  would  press,  leaving  every  thing  behind 
him  to  take  care  of  itself.  So  he  turned  northwards,  and 
struck  across  the  heath  at  his  best  pace.  The  violent  ex- 
ercise almost  finished  his  cure,  and  his  thoughts  became 
clearer  and  more  hopeful  as  he  neared  home.  He  arrived 
there  as  the  household  were  going  to  bed,  and  found  a 
letter  waiting  for  him.  It  was  from  Hardy,  saying  that 
Blake  had  left  him,  and  he  was  now  thinking  of  return- 
ing to  Oxford,  and  would  come  for  his  long-talked-of  visit 
to  Berkshire,  if  Tom  was  still  at  home  and  in  the  mind  to 
receive  him. 

Never  was  a  letter  more  opportune.     Here  was  the 


192  TOM   BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

died  friend  on  whom  he  could  rely  for  help  and  advice 
and  sympathy.  Who  knew  all  the  facts,  too,  from  begin- 
ning to  end.  His  father  and  mother  were  delighted  to 
hear  that  they  should  now  see  the  friend  of  whom  he  had 
spoken  so  much ;  so  he  went  up-stairs,  and  wrote  an  an- 
swer, which  set  Hardy  to  work  packing  his  portmanteau 
in  the  far  west,  and  brought  him  speedily  to  the  side  of 
his  friend  under  the  lee  of  the  Berkshire  hills. 


CHAPTER  XII. 


SECOND    YEAR. 


For  some  days  after  his  return  home  —  in  fact,  until 
his  friend's  arrival,  he  was  thoroughly  beaten  down  and 
wretched,  notwithstanding  his  efforts  to  look  hopefully  for- 
ward, and  keep  up  his  spirits.  His  usual  occupations  were 
utterly  distasteful  to  him  ;  and,  instead  of  occupying  him- 
self, he  sat  brooding  over  his  late  misfortune,  and  hope- 
lessly puzzling  his  head  as  to  what  he  could  do  to  set  mat- 
ters right.  The  conviction  in  which  he  always  landed 
was  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  done,  and  that  he  was  a 
desolate  and  blighted  being,  deserted  of  gods  and  men. 
Hardy's  presence  and  company  soon  shook  him  out  of  this 
maudlin  nightmare  state,  and  he  began  to  recover  as  soon 
as  he  had  his  old  sheet-anchor  friend  to  hold  on  to  and 
consult  with.  Their  consultations  were  held  chiefly  in  the 
intervals  of  woodcraft,  in  which  they  spent  most  of  the 
hours  between  breakfast  and  dinner.  Hardy  did  not  take 
out  a  certificate,  and  wouldn't  shoot  without  one ;  so,  as 
the  best  autumn  exercise,  they  selected  a  tough  old  pol- 
lard elm,  infinitely  ugly,  with  knotted  and  twisted  roots, 
curiously  difficult  to  get  at  and  cut  through,  which  had 
been  long  marked  as  a  blot  by  Mr.  Brown,  and  con- 
demned to  be  felled  as  soon  as  there  was  nothing  more 
pressing  for  his  men  to  do.  But  there  was  always  some- 
thing of  more  importance ;  so  that  the  cross-grained  old 
tree  might  have  remained  until  this  day,  had  not  Hardy 
and  Tom  pitched  on  him  as  a  foeman  worthy  of  their 
17 


194  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

axes.  They  shovelled  and  picked  and  hewed  away  with 
great  energy.  The  woodman  who  visited  them  occasion- 
ally, and  who,  on  examining  their  first  efforts,  had  re- 
marked that  the  severed  roots  looked  a  little  "  as  tho'  the 
dogs  had  been  a  gnawin'  at  'em,"  began  to  hold  them  in 
respect,  and  to  tender  his  advice  with  some  deference. 
By  the  time  the  tree  was  felled  and  shrouded,  Tom  was 
in  a  convalescent  state. 

Their  occupation  had  naturally  led  to  discussions  on  the 
advantages  of  emigration,  the  delights  of  clearing  one's 
own  estate,  building  one's  own  house,  and  getting  away 
from  conventional  life  with  a  few  tried  friends.  Of  course, 
the  pictures  which  were  painted  included  foregrounds  with 
beautiful  children  playing  about  the  clearing,  and  graceful 
women,  wives  of  the  happy  squatters,  flitting  in  and  out 
of  the  log-houses  and  sheds,  clothed  and  occupied  after 
the  manner  of  our  ideal  grandmothers ;  with  the  health 
and  strength  of  Amazons,  the  refinement  of  high-bred 
xadies,  and  wondrous  skill  in  all  domestic  works,  confec- 
tions, and  contrivances.  The  log-houses  would  also  con- 
tain fascinating  select  libraries,  continually  reinforced  from 
home,  sufficient  to  keep  all  dwellers  in  the  happy  clearing 
in  communion  with  all  the  highest  minds  of  their  own  and 
former  generations.  Wondrous  games  in  the  neighboring 
forest,  dear  old  home  customs  established  and  taking  root 
in  the  wilderness,  with  ultimate  dainty  flower-gardens, 
conservatories,  and  piano-fortes — a  millennium  on  a  small 
scale,  with  universal  education,  competence,  prosperity, 
and  equal  rights !  Such  castle-building,  as  an  accompa- 
niment to  the  hard  exercise  of  woodcraft,  worked  winders 
for  Tom  in  the  next  week,  and  may  be  safely  recom- 
mended to  parties  in  like  evil  case  with  him. 

But  more  practical  discussions  were  not  neglected,  and 
it  was  agreed  that  they  should  make  a  day  at  Englebourn 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  195 

together  before  their  return  to  Oxford,  Hardy  undertak- 
ing to  invade  the  Rectory  with  the  view  of  re-establishing 
his  friend's  character  there. 

Tom  wrote  a  letter  to  Katie  to  prepare  her  for  a  visit. 
Tiie  day  after  the  ancient  elm  was  fairly  disposed  of  they 
started  early  for  Englebourn,  and  separated  at  the  en- 
trance to  the  village  —  Hardy  proceeding  to  the  Rectory 
to  fulfil  his  mission,  which  he  felt  to  be  rather  an  embar- 
rassing one,  and  Tom  to  look  after  the  constable,  or  who- 
ever else  could  give  him  information  about  Harry. 

lie  arrived  at  the  Red  Lion,  their  appointed  trysting- 
place,  before  Hardy,  and  spent  a  restless  half-hour  in  the 
porch  and  bar  waiting  for  his  return.  At  last  Hardy 
came,  and  Tom  hurried  him  into  the  inn's  best  room, 
where  bread  and  cheese  and  ale  awaited  them,  and,  as  soon 
as  the  hostess  could  be  got  out  of  the  room,  began  impa- 
tiently, — 

"  Well ;  you  have  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  have  come  straight  here  from  the  Rectory." 

"  And  is  it  all  right,  eh  ?     Had  she  got  my  letter  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she  had  had  your  letter." 

"  And  3rou  think  she  is  satisfied  ?  " 

"  Satisfied?     No,  you  can't  expect  her  to  be  satisfied." 

"I  mean,  is  she  satisfied  that  it  isn't  so  bad  after  all  as 
it  looked  the  other  day  ?    What  does  Katie  think  of  me  ?  " 

"I  think  she  is  still  very  fond  of  you,  but  that  she  has 
been  puzzled  and  outraged  by  this  discovery,  and  cannot 
get  over  it  all  at  once." 

"  Why  didn't  you  tell  her  the  whole  story  from  begin- 
ning to  end  ?  " 

"  I  tried  to  do  so  as  well  as  I  could." 

"  Oh,  but  I  can  see  you  haven't  done  it.  She  doesn't 
really  understand  how  it  is." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  you  must  remember  it  is  an  awk- 


19G  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

ward  subject  to  be  talking  about  to  a  young  woman.  1 
would  sooner  stand  another  fellowship  examination  than 
go  through  it  again." 

"  Thank  you,  old  fellow,"  said  Tom,  laying  his  hand  on 
Hardy's  shoulder ;  "  I  feel  that  I'm  unreasonable  and  im- 
patient ;  but  you  can  excuse  it ;  you  know  that  I  don't 
mean  it." 

"  Don't  say  another  word ;  I  only  wish  I  could  have 
done  more  for  you." 

"  But  what  do  you  suppose  Katie  thinks  of  me  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  it  sums  itself  up  in  this :  she  sees  that 
you  have  been  making  serious  love  to  Patty,  and  have 
turned  the  poor  girl's  head,  more  or  less,  and  that  now 
you  are  in  love  with  somebody  else.  Why,  put  it  how 
we  will,  we  can't  get  out  of  that.  There  are  the  facts, 
pure  and  simple,  and  she  wouldn't  be  half  a  woman  if  she 
didn't  resent  it." 

"  But  it's  hard  lines,  too,  isn't  it,  old  fellow  ?  No,  I 
wont  say  that ;  I  deserve  it  all,  and  much  worse.  But 
you  think  I  may  come  round  all  right  ?  " 

"  Yes,  all  in  good  time.  I  hope  there's  no  danger  in 
any  other  quarter  ?  " 

"  Goodness  knows !  There's  the  rub,  you  see.  She 
will  go  back  to  town  disgusted  with  me ;  I  sha'n't  see  her 
again,  and  she  wont  hear  of  me  for  I  don't  know  how 
long  ;  and  she  will  be  meeting  heaps  of  men.  Has  Katie 
been  over  to  Barton  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  she  was  there  last  week,  just  before  they  left." 

"  Well,  what  happened  ?  " 

"  She  wouldn't  say  much ;  but  I  gathered  that  they  are 
very  well." 

"  Oh,  yes,  bother  it,  of  course  they  are  very  well.  But 
didn't  she  talk  to  Katie  about  what  happened  last  week  ?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  197 

"  Of  course  she  did.  "What  else  should  they  talk 
about  ?  " 

'•  But  you  don't  know  what  they  said  ?  " 

"  No  ;  but  you  may  depend  on  it  that  Miss  Winter  will 
be  your  friend.  My  dear  fellow,  there  is  nothing  for  it 
but  time." 

"  Well,  I  suppose  not,"  said  Tom,  with  a  groan.  "  Do 
you  think  I  should  call  and  see  Katie  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  think  better  not." 

"  Well,  then,  we  may  as  well  get  back,"  said  Tom,  Avho 
was  not  sorry  for  his  friend's  decision.  So  they  paid  their 
bill,  and  started  for  home,  taking  Hawk's  Lynch  on  the 
way,  that  Hardy  might  see  the  view. 

"  And  what  did  you  find  out  about  young  "Winburn  ?  " 
he  said,  as  they  passed  down  the  street. 

"  Oh,  no  good,"  said  Tom  ;  "  he  was  turned  out,  as  I 
thought,  and  has  gone  to  live  with  an  old  woman  up  on 
the  heath  here,  who  is  no  better  than  she  should  be  ;  and 
none  of  the  farmers  will  employ  him." 

"  You  didn't  see  him,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  No  ;  he  is  away  with  some  of  the  heath  people,  hawk- 
ing besoms  and  chairs  about  the  country.  They  make 
them  when  there  is  no  harvest  work,  and  loaf  about  into 
Oxfordshire  and  Buckinghamshire,  and  other  counties, 
selling  them." 

"  No  good  will  come  of  that  sort  of  life,  I'm  afraid." 

"  No  ;  but  what  is  he  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  called  at  the  lodge  as  I  came  away,  and  saw  Patty 
and  her  mother.  It's  all  right  in  that  quarter.  The  old 
woman  doesn't  seem  to  think  any  thing  of  it  ;  and  Patty  is 
a  good  girl,  and  will  make  Harry  Winburn,  or  anybody 
else,  a  capital  wife.  Here's  your  locket  and  the  letters  ; 
so  now  that's  all  over." 

"  Did  she  seem  to  mind  giving  them  up  'i  " 
17* 


198  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Not  very  much.  No,  you  are  lucky  there.  She  will 
get  over  it." 

"  But  you  told  her  that  I  am  her  friend  for  life,  and 
that  she  is  to  let  me  know  if  I  can  ever  do  any  thing  for 
her  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  now  I  hope  this  is  the  last  job  of  the  kind 
I  shall  ever  have  to  do  for  you." 

"  But  what  bad  luck  it  has  been  !  If  I  had  only  seen 
her  before,  or  known  who  she  was,  nothing  of  all  this 
would  have  happened." 

To  which  Hardy  made  no  reply ;  and  the  subject  was 
not  alluded  to  again  in  their  walk  home. 

A  day  or  two  afterwards  they  returned  to  Oxford  — 
Hardy  to  begin  his  work  as  fellow  and  assistant-tutor  of 
the  college,  and  Tom  to  see  whether  he  could  not  make 
a  better  hand  of  his  second  year  than  he  had  of  his  first. 
He  began  with  a  much  better  chance  of  doing  so,  for  he 
was  thoroughly  humbled.  The  discovery  that  he  was 
not  altogether  such  a  hero  as  he  had  fancied  himself,  had 
dawned  upon  him  very  distinctly  by  the  end  of  his  first 
year,  and  the  events  of  the  long  vacation  had  confirmed 
the  impression,  and  pretty  well  taken  all  the  conceit  out 
of  him  for  the  time.  The  impotency  of  his  own  will,  even 
when  he  was  bent  on  doing  the  right  thing,  his  want  of 
insight  and  foresight  in  whatever  matter  he  took  in  hand, 
the  unruliness  of  his  tempers  and  passions  just  at  the  mo- 
ments when  it  behoved  him  to  have  them  most  thoroughly 
in  hand  and  under  control,  were  a  set  of  disagreeable  facts 
which  had  been  driven  well  home  to  him.  The  results, 
being  even  such  as  we  have  seen,  he  did  not  much  repine 
at,  for  he  felt  he  had  deserved  them ;  and  there  was  a  sort 
of  grim  satisfaction,  dreary  as  the  prospect  was,  in  facing 
them,  and  taking  his  punishment  like  a  man.  This  was 
what  he  had  felt  at  the  first  blush  on  the  Hawk's  Lynch ; 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  199 

and,  as  be  thought  over  matters  again  by  his  fire,  with 
his  oak  sported,  on  the  first  evening  of  term,  he  was  still 
in  the  same  mind.  This  was  clearly  what  be  had  to  do 
now.     How  to  do  it  was  the  only  question. 

At  first  he  was  inclined  to  try  to  set  himself  right  with 
the  Porters  and  the  Englebourn  circle,  by  writing  further 
explanations  and  confessions  to  Katie.  But,  on  trying  his 
hand  at  a  letter,  he  found  that  he  could  not  trust  himself. 
The  temptation  of  putting  every  thing  in  the  best  point 
of  view  for  himself  was  too  great ;  so  he  gave  up  the  at- 
tempt, and  merely  wrote  a  few  lines  to  David,  to  remind 
him  that  he  was  always  i%eady  and  anxious  to  do  all  he 
could  for  his  friend,  Harry  "YVinburn,  and  to  beg  that  he 
might  have  news  of  any  thing  which  happened  to  him, 
and  how  he  was  getting  on.  He  did  not  allude  to  what 
had  lately  happened,  for  he  did  not  know  whether  the 
facts  had  become  known,  and  was  in  no  hurry  to  open 
the  subject  himself. 

Having  finished  his  letter,  he  turned  again  to  his  medi- 
tations over  the  fire,  and,  considering  that  he  had  some 
little  right  to  reward  resolution,  took  off  the  safety  valve, 
and  allowed  the  thoughts  to  bubble  up  freely  which  were 
always  underlying  all  others  that  passed  through  his  brain, 
and  making  constant  low,  delicious,  but  just  now  somewhat 
melancholy,  music  in  his  head  and  heart.  He  gave  him- 
self up  to  thinking  of  Mary,  and  their  walk  in  the  wood, 
and  the  sprained  ankle,  and  all  the  sayings  and  doings  of 
that  eventful  autumn  day.  And  then  he  opened  his  desk 
and  examined  certain  treasures  therein  concealed,  includ- 
ing a  withered  rosebud,  a  sprig  of  heather,  a  cut  boot-lace, 
and  a  scrap  or  two  of  writing.  Having  gone  through 
some  extravagant  forms  of  worship,  not  necessary  to  be 
specified,  he  put  them  away.  Would  it  ever  all  come" 
right  ? 


200  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

He  made  his  solitary  tea,  and  sat  down  again  to  con- 
sider the  point.  But  the  point  would  not  be  considered 
alone.  He  began  to  feel  more  strongly  what  he  had  had 
several  hints  of  already,  that  there  was  a  curiously  close 
connection  between  his  own  love  story  and  that  of  Harry 
Winburn  and  Patty  —  that  he  couldn't  separate  them, 
even  in  his  thoughts.  Old  Simon's  tumble,  which  had 
recalled  his  daughter  from  Oxford  at  so  critical  a  moment 
for  him ;  Mary's  visit  to  Englebourn  at  this  veiy  time ; 
the  curious  yet  natural  series  of  little  accidents  which  had 
kept  him  in  ignorance  of  Patty's  identity  until  the  final 
catastrophe — then  again,  the  way  in  which  Harry  Win- 
burn  and  his  mother  had  come  across  him  on  the  very 
day  of  his  leaving  Barton ;  the  fellowship  of  a  common 
mourning  which  had  seemed  to  bind  them  together  so 
closely,  and  this  last  discovery  which  he  could  not  help 
fearing  must  turn  Harry  into  a  bitter  enemy,  when  he 
heard  the  truth,  as  he  must,  sooner  or  later, — as  all  these 
things  passed  before  him,  he  gave  in  to  a  sort  of  super- 
stitious feeling  that  his  own  fate  hung  in  some  way  or  an- 
other upon  that  of  Harry  Winburn.  If  he  helped  on  his 
suit,  he  was  helping  on  his  own ;  but  whether  he  helped 
on  his  own  or  not,  was,  after  all,  not  that  which  was  up- 
permost in  his  thoughts.  He  was  much  changed  in  this 
respect  since  he  last  sat  in  those  rooms,  just  after  his  first 
days  with  her.  Since  then  an  angel  had  met  him,  and 
had  "  touched  the  chord  of  self,  which,  trembling,"  was 
passing  "  in  music  out  of  sight." 

The  thought  of  Harry  and  his  trials  enabled  him  to  in- 
dulge in  some  good  honest  indignation,  for  which  there 
was  no  room  in  his  own  case.  That  the  prospects  in  life 
of  such  a  man  should  be  in  the  power,  to  a  great  extent, 
of  such  people  as  Squire  Wurley  and  Farmer  Tester ; 
that,  because  he  happened  to  be  poor,  he  should  be  turned 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  201 

out  of  the  cottage  where  his  family  had  lived  for  a  hundred 
years,  at  a  week's  notice,  through  the  caprice  of  a  drunken 
gambler  ;  that,  because  he  had  stood  up  for  his  rights,  and 
had  thereby  offended  the  worst  farmer  in  the  parish,  he 
should  be  a  marked  man,  and  unable  to  get  work  —  these 
things  appeared  so  monstrous  to  him,  and  made  him  so 
angry,  that  he  was  obliged  to  get  up  and  stamp  about  the 
room.  And  from  the  particular  case  he  very  soon  got  to 
generalizations. 

Questions  which  had  before  now  puzzled  him  gained  a 
new  significance  every  minute,  and  became  real  to  him. 
Why  a  few  men  should  be  rich,  and  all  the  rest  poor ; 
above  all,  why  he  should  be  one  of  the  few  ?  Why  the 
mere  possession  of  property  should  give  a  man  power 
over  all  his  neighbors  ?  Why  poor  men  who  were  ready 
and  willing  to  work  should  only  be  allowed  to  work,  as  a 
sort  of  favor,  and  should  after  all  get  the  merest  tithe  of 
what  their  labor  produced,  and  be  tossed  aside  as  soon  as 
their  work  was  done,  or  no  longer  required  ?  These, 
and  other  such  problems,  rose  up  before  him,  crude  and 
sharp,  asking  to  be  solved.  Feeling  himself  quite  unable 
to  give  any  but  one  answer  to  them,  that  he  was  getting 
out  of  his  depth,  and  that  the  whole  business  was  in  a 
muddle,  he  had  recourse  to  his  old  method  when  in  dif- 
ficulties, and,  putting  on  his  cap,  started  off  to  Hardy's 
rooms  to  talk  the  matter  over,  and  see  whether  he  could 
not  get  some  light  on  it  from  that  quarter. 

He  returned  in  an  hour  or  so,  somewhat  less  troubled 
in  his  mind,  inasmuch  as  he  had  found  his  friend  in  pretty 
much  the  same  state  as  himself.  But  one  step  he  had 
gained.  Under  his  arm  he  carried  certain  books  from 
Hardy's  scanty  library,  the  perusal  of  which  he  hoped,  at 
least,  might  enable  him,  sooner  or  later,  to  feel  that  he  had 
got  on  to  some  sort  of  firm  ground.     At  any  rate,  Hardy 


202  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

had  advised  him  to  read  them  ;  so,  without  more  ado,  he 
drew  his  chair  to  the  table  and  began  to  look  into  them. 

This  glimpse  of  the  manner  in  Avhich  Tom  spent  the 
first  evening  of  his  second  year  at  Oxford,  will  enable  in- 
telligent readers  to  understand  why,  though  he  took  to 
reading  far  more  kindly  and  earnestly  than  he  had  ever 
done  before,  he  made  no  great  advance  in  the  proper 
studies  of  the  place.  Not  that  he  wholly  neglected  these, 
for  Hardy  kept  him  pretty  well  up  to  the  collar,  and  he 
passed  his  little-go  creditably,  and  was  fairly  placed  at 
the  college  examinations.  In  some  of  the  books  which 
he  had  to  get  up  for  lectures  he  was  really  interested. 
The  politics  of  Athens,  the  struggle  between  the  Roman 
plebs  and  patricians,  Mons  Sacer,  and  the  Agrarian  Laws 
—  these  began  to  have  a  new  meaning  to  him,  but  chiefly 
because  they  bore  more  or  less  on  the  great  Harry  Win- 
burn  problem ;  which  problem,  indeed,  for  him  had  now 
fairly  swelled  into  the  condition-of-England  problem,  and 
was  becoming  every  day  more  and  more  urgent  and  im- 
portunate, shaking  many  old  beliefs,  and  leading  him 
whither  he  knew  not. 

This  very  matter  of  leading  was  a  sore  trial  to  him. 
The  further  he  got  on  his  new  road  the  more  he  felt  the 
want  of  guidance — the  guidance  of  some  man ;  for  that 
of  books  he  soon  found  to  be  bewildering.  His  college 
tutor,  whom  he  consulted,  only  deprecated  the  waste  of 
time ;  but,  on  finding  it  impossible  to  dissuade  him,  at  last 
recommended  the  economic  works  of  that  day  as  the  proper 
well-springs  of  truth  on  such  matters.  To  them  Tom  ac- 
cordingly went,  and  read  with  the  docility  and  faith  of 
youth,  bent  on  learning,  and  feeling  itself  in  the  presence 
of  men  who  had,  or  assumed,  the  right  of  speaking  with 
authority. 

And  they  spoke  to  him  with  authority,  and  he  read  on, 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  203 

believing  much  and  hoping  more  ;  but  somehow  they  did 
not  really  satisfy  him,  though  they  silenced  him  for  the 
time.  It  was  not  the  fault  of  the  books,  most  of  which 
laid  down  clearly  enough  that  what  they  professed  to  teach 
was  the  science  of  man's  material  interests,  and  the  laws 
of  the  making  and  employment  of  capital.  But  this  es- 
caped him  in  his  eagerness,  and  he  wandered  up  and  down 
their  pages  in  search  of  quite  another  science,  and  of  laws 
with  which  they  did  not  meddle.  Nevertheless,  here  and 
there  they  seemed  to  touch  upon  Avhat  he  was  in  search 
of.  He  was  much  fascinated,  for  instance,  by  the  doctrine 
of  "  the  greatest  happiness  of  the  greatest  number,"  and 
for  its  sake  swallowed  for  a  time,  though  not  without  wry 
faces  the  dogmas,  that  self-interest  is  the  true  pivot  of  all 
social  action,  that  population  has  a  perpetual  tendency  to 
outstrip  the  means  of  living,  and  that  to  establish  a  pre- 
ventive check  on  population  is  the  duty  of  all  good  citi- 
zens. And  so  he  lived  on  for  some  time  in  a  dreary,  un- 
comfortable state,  fearing  for  the  future  of  his  country, 
and  with  little  hope  about  his  own.  But,  when  he  came 
to  take  stock  of  his  newly  acquired  knowledge,  to  weigh 
it  and  measure  it,  and  found  it  to  consist  of  a  sort  of  hazy 
conviction  that  society  would  be  all  right  and  ready  for 
the  millennium,  when  every  man  could  do  what  he  liked, 
and  nobody  could  interfere  with  him,  and  there  should  be 
a  law  against  marriage,  the  result  was  more  than  he  could 
stand.  He  roused  himself,  and  shook  himself,  and  began 
to  think,  "  Well,  these  my  present  teachers  are  very  clever 
men,  and  well-meaning  men,  too.  I  see  all  that ;  but,  if 
their  teaching  is  only  to  land  me  here,  why  it  was  scarcely 
worth  while  going  through  so  much  to  get  so  little." 

Casting  about  still  for  guidance,  Grey  occurred  to  him. 
Grey  was  in  residence  as  a  bachelor,  attending  divinity 
lectures,   and    preparing    for   ordination.      He   was    still 


204  TOM   BROWN    AT   OXFORD. 

working  hard  at  the  night-school,  and  Tom  had  been  there 
once  or  twice  to  help  him  when  the  curate  was  away.  In 
short,  he  was  in  very  good  books  with  Grey,  who  had  got 
the  better  of  his  shyness  with  him.  He  saw  that  Tom 
was  changed  and  sobered,  and  in  his  heart  hoped  some 
day  to  wean  him  from  the  pursuits  of  the  body,  to  which 
he  was  still  fearfully  addicted,  and  to  bring  him  into  the 
fold.  This  hope  was  not  altogether  unfounded ;  for,  not- 
withstanding the  strong  bias  against  them  which  Tom  had 
brought  with  him  from  school,  he  was  now  at  times  much 
attracted  by  many  of  the  high  church  doctrines,  and  the 
men  who  professed  them.  Such  men  as  Grey  he  saw  did 
really  believe  something,  and  were  in  earnest  about  car- 
rying their  beliefs  into  action.  The  party  might  and  did 
comprise  many  others  of  the  weakest  sort,  who  believed 
and  were  in  earnest  about  nothing,  but  who  liked  to  be 
peculiar.  Nevertheless,  while  he  saw  it  laying  hold  of 
many  of  the  best  men  of  his  time,  it  is  not  to  be  wondered 
at  that  he  was  drawn  towards  it.  Some  help  might  lie  in 
these  men  if  he  could  only  get  at  it ! 

So  he  propounded  his  doubts  and  studies,  and  their  re- 
sults, to  Grey.  But  it  was  a  failure.  Grey  felt  no  diffi- 
culty, or  very  little,  in  the  whole  matter ;  but  Tom  found 
that  it  was  because  he  believed  the  world  to  belong  to  the 
devil.  " Laissez faire"  " buying  cheap  and  selling  dear," 
Grey  held  might  be  good  enough  laws  for  the  world — 
very  probably  were.  The  laws  of  the  Church  were 
"  self-sacrifice,"  and  "  bearing  one  another's  burdens ; " 
her  children  should  come  out  from  the  regions  where  the 
other's  laws  were  acknowledged. 

Tom  listened,  was  dazzled  at  first,  and  thought  he  was 
getting  on  the  right  track ;  but  very  soon  he  found  that 
Grey's  specific  was  not  of  the  least  use  to  him !  It  was 
no  good  to  tell  him  of  the  rules  of  a  society  to  which  he 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  205 

felt  that  he  neither  belonged,  nor  wished  to  belong,  for 
clearly  it  could  not  be  the  Church  of  England.  He  was 
an  outsider !  Grey  would  probably  admit  it  to  be  so,  if 
he  asked  him.  lie  had  no  longing  to  be  any  thing  else, 
if  the  Church  meant  an  exclusive  body,  which  took  no 
care  of  any  but  its  own  people,  and  had  nothing  to  say  to 
the  great  world  in  which  he  and  most  people  had  to  live, 
and  buying  and  selling,  and  hiring  and  working,  had  to 
go  on.  The  close  corporation  might  have  very  good  laws, 
but  they  were  nothing  to  him.  What  he  wanted  to  know 
about  was  the  law  which  this  great  world — the  devil's 
world,  as  Grey  called  it — was  ruled  by,  or  rather  ought 
to  be  ruled  by.  Perhaps,  after  all,  Bentham  and  the 
others,  whose  books  he  had  been  reading,  might  be  right ! 
At  any  rate,  it  was  clear  that  they  had  in  their  thoughts 
the  same  world  that  he  had — the  world  which  included 
himself  and  Harry  Winburn,  and  all  laborers  and  squires 
and  farmers.  So  he  turned  to  them  again,  not  hopefully, 
but  more  inclined  to  listen  to  them  than  he  had  been  be- 
fore he  had  spoken  to  Grey. 

Hardy  was  so  fully  occupied  with  college  lectures  and 
private  pupils,  that  Tom  had  scruples  about  taking  up 
much  of  his  spare  time  in  the  evenings.  Nevertheless, 
as  Grey  had  broken  down,  and  there  was  nobody  else  on 
whose  judgment  he  could  rely  who  would  listen  to  him, 
whenever  he  had  a  chance  he  would  propound  some  of 
his  puzzles  to  his  old  friend.  In  some  respects  he  got 
little  help,  for  Hardy  was  almost  as  much  at  sea  as  he 
himself  on  such  subjects  as  "  value,"  and  "wages,"  and 
the  "  laws  of  supply  and  demand."  But  there  was  an 
indomitable  belief  in  him  that  all  men's  intercourse  with 
one  another,  and  not  merely  that  of  Churchmen,  must  be 
founded  on  the  principle  of  "  doing  as  they  would  be  done 
by,"  and  not  on  "  buying  cheap  and  selling  dear,"  and 
18 


206  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

that  these  never  could  or  would  be  reconciled  with  one 
another,  or  mean  the  same  thing,  twist  them  how  you 
would.  This  faith  of  his  friend's  comforted  Tom  greatly, 
and  he  was  never  tired  of  bringing  it  out ;  but  at  times 
he  had  his  doubts  whether  Grey  might  not  be  right  — 
whether,  after  all,  that  and  the  like  maxims  and  principles 
were  meant  to  be  the  laws  of  the  kingdoms  of  this  world. 
He  wanted  some  corroborative  evidence  on  the  subject 
from  an  impartial  and  competent  witness,  and  at  last  hit 
upon  what  he  wanted.  For,  one  evening,  on  entering 
Hardy's  rooms,  he  found  him  on  the  last  pages  of  a  book, 
which  he  shut  with  an  air  of  triumph  on  recognizing  his 
visitor.  Taking  it  up,  he  thrust  it  into  Tom's  hands,  and 
slapping  him  on  the  shoulder,  said,  "  There,  my  boy,  that's 
what  we  want,  or  pretty  near  it  at  any  rate.  Now,  don't 
say  a  word,  but  go  back  to  your  rooms,  and  swallow  it 
whole  and  digest  it,  and  then  come  back  and  tell  me  what 
you  think  of  it." 

"  But  I  want  to  talk  to  you." 

"  I  can't  talk ;  I  have  spent  the  better  part  of  two  days 
over  that  book,  and  have  no  end  of  papers  to  look  over. 
There ;  get  back  to  your  rooms,  and  do  what  I  tell  you, 
or  sit  down  here  and  hold  your  tongue." 

So  Tom  sat  down  and  held  his  tongue,  and  was  soon 
deep  in  Carlyle's  Past  and  Present.  How  he  did  revel 
in  it  —  in  the  humor,  the  power,  the  pathos,  but  above  all 
in  the  root  and  branch  denunciations  of  many  of  the  doc- 
trines in  which  he  had  been  so  lately  voluntarily  and 
wearily  chaining  himself!  The  chains  went  snapping  off 
one  after  another,  and  in  his  exultation  he  kept  spouting 
out  passage  after  passage  in  a  song  of  triumph,  "  Enlight- 
ened egoism  never  so  luminous  is  not  the  rule  by  which 
man's  life  can  be  led  —  laissez  faire,  supply  and  demand, 
cash  payment  for  the  sole  nexus,  and  so  forth,  were  not, 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  207 

are  not,  and  never  will  be,  a  practical  law  of  union  for  a 
society  of  men,"  etc.,  etc.,  until  Hardy  fairly  got  up  and 
turned  him  out,  and  be  retired  with  his  new-found  treasure 
to  his  own  rooms. 

He  had  scarcely  ever  in  his  life  been  so  moved  by  a 
book  before.  Pie  laughed  over  it,  and  cried  over  it,  and 
began  half  a  dozen  letters  to  the  author  to  thank  him 
which  he  fortunately  tore  up.  He  almost  forgot  Mary  fo* 
several  hours  during  his  first  enthusiasm.  He  had  n^ 
notion  how  he  had  been  mastered  and  oppressed  before 
He  felt  as  the  crew  of  a  small  fishing-smack,  who  are 
being  towed  away  by  an  enemy's  cruiser,  might  feel  on 
seeing  a  frigate  with  the  Union  Jack  flying,  bearing  down 
and  opening  fire  on  their  captor ;  or  as  a  small  boy  at 
school,  who  is  being  fagged  against  rules  by  the  right  of 
the  strongest,  feels  when  he  sees  his  big  brother  coming 
round  the  corner.  The  help  which  he  had  found  was  just 
what  he  wanted.  There  was  no  narrowing  of  the  ground 
here,  no  appeal  to  men  as  members  of  any  exclusive  body 
whatever  to  separate  themselves  and  come  out  of  the 
devil's  world ;  but  to  men  as  men,  to  every  man  as  a  man, 
to  the  weakest  and  meanest  as  well  as  to  the  strongest 
and  most  noble,  telling  them  that  the  world  is  God's 
world,  that  every  one  of  them  has  a  work  in  it,  and  bid- 
ding them  find  their  work  and  set  about  it. 

The  strong  tinge  of  sadness  which  ran  through  the 
whole  book,  and  its  unsparing  denunciations  of  the  estab- 
lished order  of  things,  suited  his  own  unsettled  and  rest- 
less frame  of  mind.  So  he  gave  himself  up  to  his  new 
bondage,  and  rejoiced  in  it  as  though  he  had  found  at  last 
what  he  was  seeking  for ;  and,  by  the  time  that  long 
vacation  came  round  again,  to  which  we  are  compelled  to 
hurry  him,  he  was  filled  full  of  a  set  of  contradictory 
notions  and  beliefs  which  were   destined  to  astonish  and 


208  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

perplex  the  mind  of  that  worthy  J.  P.  for  the  county  of 
Berks,  Brown  the  elder,  whatever  other  effect  they  might 
have  on  society  at  large. 

Readers  must  not  suppose,  however,  that  our  hero  had 
given  up  his  old  pursuits ;  on  the  contrary,  he  continued 
to  boat  and  cricket  and  spar  with  as  much  vigor  as  ever. 
His  perplexities  also  made  him  a  little  more  silent  at  his 
pastimes  than  he  used  to  be.  But,  as  we  have  already 
seen  him  thus  employed,  and  know  the  ways  of  the 
animal  in  such  matters,  it  is  needless  to  repeat.  What 
we  want  to  do  is  to  follow  him  into  new  fields  of  thought 
and  action,  and  mark,  if  it  may  be,  how  he  develops,  and 
gets  himself  educated  in  one  way  and  another;  and  this 
plunge  into  the  great  sea  of  social,  political,  and  econom- 
ical questions  is  the  noticeable  fact  (so  far  as  any  is  notice- 
able) of  his  second  year's  residence. 

During  the  year  he  had  only  very  meagre  accounts  of 
matters  at  Englebourn.  Katie,  indeed,  had  come  round 
sufficiently  to  write  to  him,  but  she  scarcely  alluded  to 
her  cousin.  He  only  knew  that  Mary  had  come  out  in 
London,  and  was  much  admired,  and  that  the  Porters  had 
not  taken  Barton  again,  but  were  going  abroad  for  the 
autumn  and  winter.  The  accounts  of  Harry  were  bad ; 
he  was  still  living  at  Daddy  Collins',  nobody  knew  how, 
and  working  gang-work  occasionally  with  the  outlaws  of 
the  heath. 

The  only  fact  of  importance  in  the  neighborhood  had 
been  the  death  of  Squire  Wurley,  which  happened  sud- 
denly in  the  spring.  A  distant  cousin  had  succeeded  him, 
a  young  man  of  Tom's  own  age. 

He  was  also  in  residence  at  Oxford,  and  Tom  knew 
him.  They  were  not  very  congenial ;  so  he  was  much 
astonished  when  young  Wurley,  on  his  return  to  college 
after  his   relative's  funeral,  rather  sought  him  out,  and 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  209 

seemed  to  wish  to  know  more  of  him.  The  end  of  it  was 
an  invitation  to  Tom  to  come  to  the  Grange,  and  spend  a 
week  or  so  at  the  beginning  of  the  long  vacation.  There 
was  to  be  a  party  of  Oxford  men,  and  nobody  else  there  ; 
and  they  meant  to  enjoy  themselves  thoroughly,  Wurley 
said. 

Tom  felt  much  embarrassed  how  to  act,  and,  after  some 
hesitation,  told  his  inviter  of  his  last  visit  to  the  mansion 
in  question,  thinking  that  a  knowledge  of  the  circum- 
stances might  change  his  mind.  But  he  found  that  young 
Wurley  knew  the  facts  already ;  and  in  fact,  he  couldn't 
help  suspecting  that  his  quarrel  with  the  late  owner  had 
something  to  say  to  his  present  invitation.  However,  it 
did  not  lie  in  his  mouth  to  be  curious  on  the  subject ;  and 
so  he  accepted  the  invitation  gladly,  much  delighted  at  the 
notion  of  beginning  his  vacation  so  near  Englebourn,  and 
having  the  run  of  the  Grange  fishing,  which  was  justly 
celebrated. 

18* 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    RIVER  SIDE. 

So,  from  Henley,  Tom  went  home  just  to  see  his  father 
and  mother,  and  pick  up  his  fishing  gear,  and  then  started 
for  the  Grange.  On  his  road  thither,  he  more  than  once 
almost  made  up  his  mind  to  go  round  by  Englebourn,  get 
his  first  interview  with  Katie  over,  and  find  out  how  the 
world  was  really  going  with  Harry  and  his  sweetheart,  of 
whom  he  had  had  such  meagre  intelligence  of  late.  But,  for 
some  i*eason  or  another,  when  it  came  to  taking  the  turn 
to  Englebourn,  he  passed  it  by,  and,  contenting  himself 
for  the  time  with  a  distant  view  of  the  village  and  the 
Hawk's  Lynch,  drove  straight  to  the  Grange. 

He  had  not  expected  to  feel  very  comfortable  at  first  in 
the  house  which  he  had  left  the  previous  autumn  in  so 
strange  a  manner,  and  he  was  not  disappointed.  The 
rooms  reminded  him  unpleasantly  of  his  passage  of  arms 
with  the  late  master,  and  the  grave  and  portly  butler  was 
somewhat  embarrassed  in  his  reception  of  him ;  while  the 
footman,  who  carried  off  his  portmanteau,  did  it  with  a 
grin  which  put  him  out.  The  set  of  men  whom  he  found 
there  were  not  of  his  sort.  They  were  young  Londoners, 
and  he  a  thorough  countryman.  But  the  sight  of  the 
stream,  by  which  he  took  a  hasty  stroll  before  dinner, 
made  up  for  every  thing,  and  filled  him  with  pleasurable 
anticipations.  He  thought  he  had  never  seen  a  sweeter 
bit  of  water. 

The  dinner  to  which  the  party  of  young  gentlemen  sat 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  211 

down  was  most  undeniable.  The  host  talked  a  little  too 
much,  perhaps,  under  all  the  circumstances,  of  my  wine, 
my  plate,  my  mutton,  etc.,  provoking  the  thought  of  how 
long  they  had  been  his.  But  he  was  bent  on  hospitality 
after  his  fashion,  and  his  guests  were  not  disposed  to  crit- 
icise much. 

The  old  butler  did  not  condescend  to  wait,  but  brought 
in  a  magnum  of  claret  after  dinner,  carefully  nursing  it  as 
if  it  were  a  baby,  and  placing  it  patronizingly  before  his 
young  master.  Before  they  adjourned  to  the  billiard- 
room,  which  they  did  direct,  they  had  disposed  of  several 
of  the  same  ;  but  the  followers  were  brought  in  by  a  foot- 
man, the  butler  being  employed  in  discussing  a  bottle  of 
an  older  vintage  with  the  steward  in  the  still-room.  Then 
came  pool,  pool,  pool,  soda-water  and  brandy,  and  cigars, 
into  the  short  hours ;  but  Tom  stole  away  early,  having 
an  eye  to  his  morning's  fishing,  and  not  feeling  much  at 
home  with  his  companions. 

lie  was  out  soon  after  sunrise  the  next  morning.  lie 
never  wanted  to  be  called  when  there  was  a  trout-stream 
within  reach ;  and  his  fishing  instinct  told  him  that,  in 
these  sultry  dog-days,  there  would  be  little  chance  of  sport 
when  the  sun  was  well  up.  So  he  let  himself  gently  out 
of  the  hall-door  —  paused  a  moment  on  the  steps  to  fill 
his  chest  with  the  fresh  morning  air,  as  he  glanced  at  the 
weather-cock  over  the  stables  —  and  then  set  to  work  to 
put  his  tackle  together  on  the  lawn,  humming  a  tune  to 
himself  as  he  selected  an  insinuating  red  hackle  and  alder 
fly  from  his  well-worn  book,  and  tied  them  on  to  his  cast. 
Then  he  slung  his  creel  over  his  shoulder,  picked  up  his 
rod,  and  started  for  the  water. 

As  he  passed  the  gates  of  the  stable-yard,  the  keeper 
came  out  —  a  sturdy,  bullet-headed  fellow,  in  a  velveteen 


212  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

coat,  and  cord  breeches  and  gaiters  —  and  touched  his  hat. 
Tom  returned  the  salute,  and  wished  him  good-morning. 

"  Mornin',  sir  ;  you  be  about  early." 

"  Yes  ;  I  reckon  it's  the  best  time  for  sport  at  the  end 
of  June." 

"  'Tis  so,  sir.     Shall  I  fetch  a  net  and  come  along  ?  " 

"  No,  thank  you,  I'll  manage  the  ladle  myself.  But 
which  do  you  call  the  best  water  ?  " 

"  They  be  both  middling  good.  There  aint  much  odds 
atwixt  'em.  But  I  sees  most  fish  movin'  o'  mornins  in  the 
deep  water  down  below." 

"  I  don't  know  ;  the  night  was  too  hot,"  said  Tom,  who 
had  examined  the  water  the  day  before,  and  made  up  his 
mind  where  he  was  going.  "  I'm  for  deep  water  on  cold 
days ;  I  shall  begin  with  the  stickles  up  above.  There's 
good  head  of  water  on,  I  suppose  ?  " 

"  Plenty  down  the  last  week,  sir." 

"  Come  along,  then  ;  we'll  walk  together,  if  you're  go- 
ing that  way."  So  Tom  stepped  off",  brushing  through  the 
steaming  long  grass,  gemmed  with  wild  flowers,  followed 
by  the  keeper ;  and,  as  the  grasshoppers  bounded  chirrup- 
ping  out  of  his  way,  and  the  insect  life  hummed  and  mur- 
mured, and  the  lark  rose  and  sang  above  his  head,  he  felt 
happier  than  he  had  done  for  many  a  long  month.  So 
his  heart  opened  towards  his  companion  who  kept  a  little 
behind  him. 

"  What  size  do  you  take  'em  out,  keeper  ?  " 

"  Any  thing  over  nine  inches,  sir.  But  there's  a  smart- 
ish few  fish  of  three  pounds,  for  them  as  can  catch  'em." 

"  Well,  that's  good  ;  but  they  aint  easy  caught,  eh  ?  " 

"  I  don't  rightly  know,  sir ;  but  there's  gents  comes  as 
stands  close  by  the  water,  and  flogs  down  stream  with  the 
sun  in  their  backs,  and  uses  all  manner  o'  vlies,  wi'  long 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  21tf 

names  ;  and  then  they  gwoes  away,  and  says,  'taint  no  use 
flying  here,  'cos  there's  so  much  cadis  hait  and  that  like." 

"  Ah,  very  likely,"  said  Tom,  with  a  chuckle. 

"  The  chaps  as  catches  the  big  fishes,  sir,"  went  on  the 
keeper,  getting  confidential,  "  is  thay  cussed  night-line 
poachers.  There's  one  o'  thay  as  has  come  here  this  last 
spring-tide  —  the  artfullest  chap  as  ever  I  come  across, 
and  down  to  every  move  on  the  board.  He  don't  use  no 
shove  nets  nor  such  like  tackle,  not  he ;  I  s'pose  he  don't 
call  that  sport.  Besides,  I  got  master  to  stake  the  whole 
water,  and  set  old  knives  and  razors  about  in  the  holes, 
so  that  don't  answer ;  and  this  joker  alius  goes  alone  — 
which,  in  course,  he  couldn't  do  with  nets.  Now,  I  knows 
within  five  or  six  yards  where  that  chap  sets  his  lines,  and 
I  finds  'em,  now  and  again,  set  the  artfullest  you  ever  see. 
But  'twould  take  a  man's  life  to  look  arter  him,  and  I 
knows  he  gets  maybe  a  dozen  big  fish  a  week,  do  all  as  I 
knows." 

"  How  is  it  you  can't  catch  him,  keeper  ?  "  said  Tom, 
much  amused. 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  he  don't  come  at  any  hours.  Drat 
un  !  "  said  the  keeper,  getting  hot ;  "  blessed  if  I  don't  think 
he  sometimes  comes  down  among  the  haymakers  and  folk 
at  noon,  and  up  lines  and  off,  while  thay  chaps  does  noth- 
ing but  snigger  at  un  —  all  I  knows  is,  as  I've  watched 
till  midnight,  and  then  on  again  at  dawn  for'n,  and  no 
good  come  on  it  but  once." 

"  How  was  that  ?  " 

"  "Well,  one  mornin',  sir,  about  last  Lady-day,  I  comes 
quite  quiet  up  stream  about  dawn.  "When  I  gets  to  Farmer 
Giles'  piece  (that  little  rough  bit,  sir,  as  you  sees  t'other 
side  the  stream,  two  fields  from  our  outside  bounds),  I  sees 
un  a  stooping  down  and  hauling  in's  line.  '  Now's  your 
time,  Billy,'  says  I,  and  up  the  hedge  I  cuts  hotfoot,  to  get 


214  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

betwixt  he  and  our  bounds.  "Wether  he  seen  me  or  not,  I 
can't  mind ;  least  ways,  when  I  up's  head  t'other  side  the 
hedge,  vorrights  where  I  seen  him  last,  there  was  he  a- 
trotting  up  stream  quite-cool,  a-pocketing  a  two-pounder. 
Then  he  seen  me,  and  away  we  goes  side  by  side  for  the 
bounds  —  he  this  side  the  hedge  and  I  t'other ;  he  takin' 
the  fences  like  our  old  greyhound-bitch,  Clara.  "We  takes 
the  last  fence  on  to  that  fuzzy  field  as  you  sees  there,  sir 
(parson's  glebe,  and  out  of  our  liberty),  neck  and  neck, 
and  I  turns  short  to  the  left,  'cos  there  warn't  no  fence 
now  betwixt  he  and  I.  Well,  I  thought  he'd  a  dodged  on 
about  the  fuz.  Not  he;  he  slouches  his  hat  over's  eyes, 
and  stands  quite  cool  by  fust  fuz  bush  —  I  minded  then 
as  we  was  out  o'  our  beat.  Ilows'ever, my  blood  was  up; 
so  I  at's  him  then  and  there,  no  words  lost,  and  fetches  a 
crack  at's  head  wi'  my  stick.  He  fends  wi'  his'n ;  and 
then,  as  I  rushes  in  to  collar'n,  dashed  if  'e  didn't  meet  I 
full,  and  catch  I  by  the  thigh  and  collar,  and  send  I  slap 
over's  head  into  a  fuz  bush.  Then  he  chuckles  fit  to 
bust  hisself,  and  cuts  his  stick,  while  I  creeps  out  full  o' 
prickles,  and  wi'  my  breeches  tore  shameful.  Dang  un  ! " 
cried  the  keeper,  while  Tom  roared,  "  he's  a  lissum  wos- 
bird,  that  I  'ool  say,  but  I'll  be  upsides  wi'  he  next  time  I 
sees  un.  "Whorson  fool  as  I  was  not  to  stop  and  look  at 
'n  and  speak  to  un  !  Then  I  should  ha'  know'd  'n  again  ; 
and  now  he  med  be  our  parish  clerk  for  all  as  I  knows." 

"  And  you've  never  met  him  since  ?  " 

"  Never  sot  eye  on  un,  sir,  arly  or  late  —  wishes  I 
had." 

"  "Well,  keeper,  here's  half  a  crown  to  go  towards 
mending  the  hole  in  your  breeches,  and  better  luck  at  the 
return  match.     I  shall  begin  fishing  here." 

"  Thank'ee,  sir ;  you  keep  your  cast  pretty  nigh  that 
there  off  bank,  and  you  med  have  a  rare  good  un  ther'. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  215 

I  seen  a  fish  suck  there  just  now  as  warn't  spawned  this 
year  nor  last  nether." 

And  away  went  the  keeper. 

"  Stanch  fellow,  the  keeper,"  said  Tom  to  himself,  as  he 
reeled  out  yard  after  yard  of  his  tapered  line,  and  with  a 
gentle  sweep  dropped  his  collar  of  flies  lightly  on  the  wa- 
ter, each  cast  covering  another  five  feet  of  the  dimpling 
surface.  "  Good  fellow,  the  keeper  —  don't  mind  telling 
a  story  against  himself —  can  stand  being  laughed  at  — 
more  than  his  master  can.  Ah,  there's  the  fish  he  saw 
sucking,  I'll  be  bound.  Now,  you  beauties,  over  his  nose, 
and  fall  light  —  don't  disgrace  your  bringing  up  !  "  and 
away  went  the  flies  quivering  through  the  air  and  lighting 
close  to  the  opposite  bank,  under  a  bunch  of  rushes.  A 
slight  round  eddy  followed  below  the  rushes,  as  the  cast 
came  gently  back  across  the  current. 

"Ah,  you  see  them,  do  you,  old  boy?"  thought  Tom. 
"  Say  your  prayers,  then,  and  get  shrived ! "  and  away 
went  the  flies  again,  this  time  a  little  below.  No  move- 
ment. The  third  throw,  a  great  lunge  and  splash,  and 
the  next  moment  the  lithe  rod  bent  double,  and  the  gut 
collar  spun  along,  cutting  through  the  water  like  mad. 
Up  goes  the  great  fish  twice  into  the  air,  Tom  giving  him 
the  point,  then  up  stream  again,  Tom  giving  him  the  butt 
and  beginning  to  reel  up  gently.  Down  goes  the  great 
fish  into  the  swaying  weeds,  working  with  his  tail  like  a 
twelve-horse  screw.  "  If  I  can  only  get  my  nose  to 
ground,"  thinks  he.  So  thinks  Tom,  and  trusts  to  his 
tackle,  keeping  a  steady  strain  on  trouty,  and  creeping 
gently  down  stream.  "  No  go,"  says  the  fish,  as  he  feels 
his  nose  steadily  hauled  round,  and  turns  with  a  swirl 
down  stream.  Away  goes  Tom,  reeling  in,  and  away 
goes  the  fish  in  hopes  of  a  slack  —  away,  for  twenty  or 
thirty  yards  —  the  fish  coming  to  the  top  lazily,  now  and 


216  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

again,  and  holding  on  to  get  his  second  wind.  Now  a 
<;art  track  crossed  the  stream,  no  weeds,  and  shallow  wa- 
ter at  the  side.  "  Here  we  must  have  it  out,"  thinks  Tom, 
and  turns  fish's  nose  up  stream  again.  The  big  fish  gets 
sulky,  twice  drifts  towards  the  shallow,  and  twice  plunges 
away  at  the  sight  of  his  enemy  into  the  deep  water.  The 
third  time  he  comes  swaying  in,  his  yellow  side  gleaming 
and  his  mouth  open ;  and  the  next  moment  Tom  scoops 
him  out  on  to  the  grass,  with  a  "  whoop  "  that  might  have 
been  heard  at  the  house. 

"  Two-pounder,  if  he's  an  ounce,"  says  Tom,  as  he  gives 
him  the  coup  de  grace,  and  lays  him  out  lovingly  on  the 
fresh  green  sward. 

Who  amongst  you,  dear  readers,  can  appreciate  the  in- 
tense delight  of  grassing  your  first  big  fish  after  a  nine 
months'  fast?  All  first  sensations  have  their  special  pleas- 
ure, but  none  can  be  named,  in  a  small  way,  to  beat  this 
of  the  first  fish  of  the  season.  The  first  clean  leg-hit  for 
four  in  your  first  match  at  Lords  —  the  grating  of  the  bows 
of  your  racing  boat  against  the  stern  of  the  boat  ahead  in 
your  first  race  —  the  first  half-mile  of  a  burst  from  the 
cover  side  in  November  when  the  hounds  in  the  field 
ahead  may  be  covered  with  a  tablecloth,  and  no  one  but 
the  huntsman  and  a  top  sawyer  or  two  lies  between  you 
and  them  —  the  first  brief  after  your  call  to  the  bar,  if  it 
comes  within  the  year  —  the  sensations  produced  by  these 
are  the  same  in  kind ;  but  cricket,  boating,  getting  briefs, 
even  hunting,  lose  their  edge  as  time  goes  on.  As  to  lady 
readers,  it  is  impossible,  probably,  to  give  them  an  idea 
of  the  sensation  in  question.  Perhaps  some  may  have 
experienced  something  of  the  kind  at  their  first  balls, 
when  they  heard  whispers,  and  saw  all  eyes  turning  their 
way,  and  knew  that  their  dresses  and  gloves  fitted  per- 
fectly.    But  this  joy  can  be  felt  but  once  in   a  life,  and 


TOM    I5ROWN    AT    OXFORD.  217 

the  first  fish  comes  back  as  fresh  as  ever,  or  ought  to  come, 
if  all  men  had  their  rights,  once  in  a  season.  So,  good 
luck  to  the  gentle  craft,  and  its  professors,  and  may  the 
Fates  send  us  much  into  their  company!  The  trout- 
fisher,  like  the  landscape  painter,  haunts  the  loveliest 
places  of  the  earth,  and  haunts  them  alone.  Solitude,  na- 
ture, and  his  own  thoughts  —  he  must  be  on  the  best  terms 
with  all  of  these ;  and  he  who  can  take  kindly  the  largest 
allowance  of  these,  is  likely  to  be  the  kindliest  and  truest 
with  his  fellow-men. 

Tom  had  splendid  sport  that  summer  morning.  As  the 
great  sun  rose  higher,  the  light  morning  breeze  which  had 
curled  the  water,  died  away ;  the  light  mist  drew  up  into 
light  cloud,  and  the  light  cloud  vanished  into  cloudland, 
for  any  thing  I  know  ;  and  still  the  fish  rose,  strange  to 
say,  though  Tom  felt  it  was  an  affair  of  minutes,  and 
acted  accordingly.  At  eight  o'clock  he  was  about  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  from  the  house,  at  a  point  in  the  stream  of 
rare  charms  both  for  the  angler  and  the  lover  of  gentle- 
river  beauty.  The  main  stream  was  crossed  by  a  lock, 
formed  of  a  solid  brick  bridge  with  no  parapets,  under 
which  the  water  rushed  through  four  small  arches,  each 
of  which  could  be  closed  in  tin  instant  by  letting  down  a 
heavy  wooden  lock  gate,  fitted  in  grooves  on  the  upper 
side  of  the  bridge.  Such  locks  are  frequent  in  the  west- 
country  streams,  even  at  long  distances  from  mills  and 
millers,  for  whose  behoof  they  were  made  in  old  days, 
that  the  supply  of  water  to  the  mill  might  be  easily  regu- 
lated. All  pious  anglers  should  bless  the  memories  of  the 
old  builders  of  them,  for  they  are  the  very  paradises  of  the 
great  trout,  who  frequent  the  old  brickwork  and  timber 
foundations.  The  water,  in  its  rush  through  the  arches, 
had  of  course  worked  for  itself  a  deep  hole,  and  then, 
some  twenty  yards  below,  spread  itself  out  in  wanton 
19 


218  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

joyous  ripples  and  eddies  over  a  broad  surface  some  fifty 
yards  across,  and  dashed  away  towards  a  little  island  some 
two  hundred  yards  below,  or  rolled  itself  slowly  back  tow- 
ards the  bridge  again,  up  the  backwater  by  the  side  of 
the  bank,  as  if  longing  for  another  merry  rush  through 
one  of  those  narrow  arches.  The  island  below  was 
crowned  with  splendid  alders,  willows  forty  feet  high, 
which  wept  into  the  water,  and  two  or  three  poplars ;  a 
rich  mile  of  water  meadow,  with  an  occasional  willow  or 
aider  lay  gleaming  beyond ;  and  the  view  was  bounded 
by  a  glorious  wood,  which  crowned  the  gentle  slope,  at  the 
foot  of  which  the  river  ran.  Another  considerable  body 
of  water,  which  had  been  carried  off  above  from  the  main 
stream  to  flush  the  water  meadows,  rejoined  its  parent  at 
this  point ;  it  came  slowly  down  a  broad  artificial  ditch, 
running  parallel  with  the  main  stream ;  and  the  narrow 
strip  of  land  which  divided  the  two  streams  ended  ab- 
ruptly just  below  the  lock,  forming  a  splendid  point  for 
bather  or  angler.  Tom  had  fixed  on  this  pool  as  his 
bonne  bouche,  as  a  child  keeps  its  plums  till  the  last,  and 
stole  over  the  bridge,  stooping  low,  to  gain  the  point  above 
indicated.  Having  gained  it,  he  glanced  round  to  be 
aware  of  the  dwarf  ash-trees  and  willows  which  were 
scattered  along  the  strip  and  might  catch  heedless  collars 
and  spoil  sport,  when,  lying  lazily  almost  on  the  surface 
where  the  backwater  met  the  stream  from  the  meadows, 
he  beheld  the  great-grandfather  of  all  trout,  a  fellow  two 
feet  long  and  a  foot  in  girth  at  the  shoulders,  just  moving 
fin  enough  to  keep  him  from  turning  over  on  to  his  back. 
He  threw  himself  flat  on  the  ground  and  crept  away  to 
the  other  side  of  the  strip ;  the  king-fish  had  not  seen 
him ;  and  the  next  moment  my  uncle  saw  him  suck  in  a 
bee  laden  with  his  morning's  load  of  honey,  who  touched 
the  water  unwarily  close  to  his  nose.     With  a  trembling 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  219 

hand  Tom  took  off  his  tail  fly,  and,  on  his  knees,  substi- 
tuted a  governor;  then,  shortening  his  line  after  wetting 
his  mimic  bee  in  the  pool  behind  him,  tossed  him  gently 
into  the  monster's  very  jaws.  For  a  moment  the  fish 
seemed  scared,  but  the  next,  conscious  in  his  strength, 
lifted  his  nose  slowly  to  the  surface  and  sucked  in  the 
bait.  My  uncle  struck  gently,  and  then  sprang  to  his  feet. 
But  the  Heavens  had  other  work  for  the  king-fish,  who 
dived  swiftly  under  the  bank ;  a  slight  jar  followed,  and 
Tom's  rod  was  straight  over  his  head,  the  line  and  scarce 
a  yard  of  his  trusty  gut  collar  dangling  about  his  face. 
He  seized  this  remnant  with  horror  and  unsatisfied  long- 
ing, and  examined  it  with  care.  Could  he  have  over- 
looked any  fraying  which  the  gut  might  have  got  in  the 
morning's  work  ?  No  ;  he  had  gone  over  every  inch  of  it 
not  five  minutes  before,  as  he  neared  the  pool.  Besides, 
it  was  cut  clean  through,  not  a  trace  of  bruise  or  fray 
about  it.  •  How  could  it  have  happened  ?  Pie  went  to  the 
spot  and  looked  into  the  water;  it  was  slightly  discolored, 
and  he  could  not  see  the  bottom.  He  threw  his  fishing 
coat  off,  rolled  up  the  sleeve  of  his  flannel  shirt,  and,  lying 
on  his  side,  felt  about  the  bank  and  tried  to  reach  the 
bottom,  but  couldn't.  So,  hearing  the  half-hour  bell  ring, 
he  deferred  further  inquiry,  and  stripped  in  silent  disgust 
for  a  plunge  in  the  pool.  Three  times  he  hurled  himself 
into  the  delicious  rush  of  the  cold  chalk  stream,  with  that 
utter  abandon  in  which  man,  whose  bones  are  brittle,  can 
only  indulge  when  there  are  six  or  seven  feet  of  water 
between  him  and  mother  earth;  and,  letting  the  stream 
bear  him  away  at  its  own  sweet  will  to  the  shallows  be- 
low, struck  up  again  through  the  rush  and  the  roar  to  his 
plunging  place.  Then  slowly  and  luxuriously  dressing, 
ho  lit  his  short  pipe,  —  companion  of  meditation,  —  and  be- 
gan to  ruminate  on  the   escape   of  his   king-fish.     What 


220  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

could  have  cut  his  collar  ?  The  more  he  thought,  the  less 
he  could  make  it  out.  When  suddenly  he  was  aware  of 
the  keeper  on  his  way  hack  to  the  house  for  orders  and 
breakfast. 

"  What  sport,  sir  ?  " 

"  Pretty  fair,"  said  Tom,  carelessly  ;  lugging  five  plump 
speckled  fellows,  weighing  some  seven  and  a  half  pounds, 
out  of  his  creel,  and  laying  them  out  for  the  keeper's  in- 
spection. 

"  Well,  they  be  in  prime  order,  sir,  surely,"  says  the 
keeper,  handling  them  ;  "  they  alius  gets  mortal  thick 
across  the  shoulders  while  the  May  fly  be  on.  Lose  any, 
sir?" 

"  I  put  in  some  little  ones  up  above,  and  lost  one 
screamer  just  up  the  back  ditch  there.  He  must  have 
been  a  four  pounder,  and  went  off,  and  be  hanged  to  him, 
with  two  yards  of  my  collar  and  a  couple  of  firstrate  flies. 
How  on  earth  he  got  off  I  can't  tell !"  and  he  went  on  to 
unfold  the  particulars  of  the  short  struggle. 

The  keeper  could  hardly  keep  down  a  grin.  "  Ah, 
sir,"  said  he,  "I  thinks  I  knows  what  spwiled  your  sport. 
You  owes  it  all  to  that  chap  as  I  was  a-telling  you  of,  or 
my  name's  not  Willum  Goddard ; "  and  then,  fishing  the 
lock-pole  with  a  hook  at  the  end  of  it  out  of  the  rushes,  he 
began  groping  under  the  bank,  and  presently  hauled  up  a 
sort  of  infernal  machine,  consisting  of  a  heavy  lump  of 
wood,  a  yard  or  so  long,  in  which  were  carefully  inserted 
the  blades  of  four  or  five  old  knives  and  razors,  while  a 
crop  of  rusty,  jagged  nails  filled  up  the  spare  space. 

Tom  looked  at  it  in  wonder.  "  What  devil's  work  have 
you  got  hold  of  there  ?  "  he  said  at  last. 

"  Bless  you,  sir,"  said  the  keeper,  "  'tis  only  our  shove- 
net  traps  as  I  wur  a-telling  you  of.  I  keeps  hard  upon  a 
dozen  on  'em,  and  shifts  'em  about  in  the  likeliest  holes ; 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  221 

and  I  takes  care  to  let  the  men  as  is  about  the  water 
meadows  see  me  a-sharpening  on  'em  up  a  bit,  wi'  a  file, 
now  and  again.  And,  since  master  gev  me  orders  to  put 
'em  in,  I  don't  think  they  tries  that  game  on  not  once  a 
month." 

"  Well,  but  where  do  you  and  your  master  expect  to  go 
to  if  you  set  such  things  as  those  about  ?  "  said  Tom,  look- 
ing serious.  "  Why,  you'll  be  cutting  some  fellow's  hand 
or  foot  half  off  one  of  these  days.  Suppose  I'd  waded  up 
the  bank  to  see  what  had  become  of  my  cast  ?  " 

"  Lor,  sir,  I  never  thought  o'  that,"  said  the  keeper, 
looking  sheepish,  and  lifting  the  back  of  his  short  hat  off 
his  head  to  make  room  for  a  scratch  ;  "  but,"  added  he, 
turning  the  subject,  "  if  you  wants  to  keep  thay  artful 
wosbirds  off  the  water,  you  must  frighten  'em  wi'  summat 
out  o'  the  way.  Drattle  'em,  I  knows  they  puts  me  to  my 
wits'  end  ;  but  you'd  never  'a'  had  five  such  fish  as  them 
afore  breakfast,  sir,  if  we  didn't  stake  the  waters  unmus- 
siful." 

"  Well,  and  I  don't  want  'em,  if  I  can't  get  'em  without. 
I'll  toll  you  what  it  is,  keeper,  this  razor  business  is  going 
a  bit  too  far ;  men  aint  to  be  maimed  for  liking  a  bit  of 
sport.  You  set  spring-guns  in  the  woods,  and  you  know 
what  that  came  to.  Why  don't  you,  or  one  of  your 
watchers,  stop  out  here  at  night,  and  catch  the  fellows, 
like  men  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  see,  sir,  master  don't  allow  me  but  one 
watcher,  and  he's  mortal  feared  o'  the  water  he  be,  spe- 
cially o'  nights.  He'd  sooner  by  half  stop  up  in  the 
woods.  Daddy  Collins  (that's  an  old  woman  as  lives  on 
the  heath,  sir,  and  a  bad  sort  she  be,  too),  well,  she  told 
he  once,  when  he  wouldn't  gee  her  some  bacchy  as  he'd 
got,  and  she'd  a  mind  to,  as  he'd  fall  twice  into  the  water 
fur  once  as  he'd  get  out ;  and  th'  poor  chap  ever  since 
1!)* 


222  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

can't  think  but  what  he'll  be  drownded.  And  there's 
queer  sights  and  sounds  by  the  river  o'  nights,  too,  I  ool 
say,  sir,  let  alone  the  white  mist,  as  makes  every  thing 
look  unket,  and  gives  a  chap  the  rheumatics." 

"Well,  but  you  aint  afraid  of  ghosts  and  rheumatism?" 
"  No ;  I  don't  know  as  I  be,  sir.     But  then,  there's  the 
pheasants  a  breedin',  and  there's  four  brood  of  flappers  in 
the  withey  bed,  and  a  sight  o'  young  hares  in  the  spin- 
neys.    I  be  hard  put  to  to  mind  it  all." 

"  I  dare  say  you  are,"  said  Tom,  putting  on  his  coat,  and 
shouldering  his  rod  ;  "  I've  a  good  mind  to  take  a  turn  at 
it  myself,  to  help  you,  if  you'll  only  drop  those  razors." 

"  I  wishes  you  would,  sir,"  said  the  keeper,  from  be- 
hind ;  "  if  gen'l'men'd  sometimes  take  a  watch,  at  nights, 
they'd  find  out  as  keepers  hadn't  all  fair-weather  work, 
I'll  warrant,  if  they're  to  keep  a  good  head  o'  game  about 
a  place ;  'taint  all  popping  off  guns,  and  lunching  under 
hayricks,  I  can  tell  'em  —  no,  nor  half  on  it." 

"  Where  do  you  think,  now,  this  fellow  we  were  talk- 
ing of  sells  his  fish  ?  "  said  Tom,  after  a  minute's  thought. 
"  Mostly  at  Reading  Market,  I  hears  tell,  sir.  There's 
the  guard  of  the  mail,  as  goes  by  the  cross-roads  three 
days  a  week,  he  wur  a  rare  poaching  chap  hisself  down  in 
the  west  afore  he  got  his  place  along  of  his  bugle-playing. 
They  do  say  as  he's  open  to  any  game,  he  is,  from  a  buck 
to  a  snipe,  and  drives  a  trade  all  down  the  road  with  the 
country  chaps." 

"  What  day  is  Reading  Market  ?  " 
u  Tuesdays  and  Saturdays,  sir." 
"  And  what  time  does  the  mail  go  by  ?  " 
"  Six  o'clock  in  the  morning,  sir,  at  the  cross-roads." 
"  And  they're  three  miles  off,  across  the  fields  ?  " 
"  Thereabouts,  sir  ;  I  reckons  it  about  a  forty  minutes' 
stretch,  and  no  time  lost." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  223 

"  There'll  be  no  more  big  fish  caught  on  the  fly  to-day," 
said  Tom,  after  a  minute's  silence,  as  they  neared  the 
house. 

The  wind  had  fallen  dead,  and  not  a  spot  of  cloud  in 
the  sky. 

"  Not  afore  nightfall,  I  think,  sir;"  and  the  keeper  dis- 
appeared towards  the  offices. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

THE   NIGHT-WATCH. 

"  You  may  do  as  you  please,  but  I'm  going  to  see  it 
out." 

"  No  ;  but  I  say,  do  come  along ;  that's  a  good  fellow." 

"  Not  I ;  why,  we've  only  just  come  out.  Didn't  you 
hear  ?  Wurley  dared  me  to  do  a  night's  watching  and  I 
said  I  meant  to  do  it." 

"  Yes ;  so  did  I.  But  we  can  change  our  minds. 
What's  the  good  of  having  a  mind  if  you  can't  change  it ! 
&i  SevTepai  nug  (ppovndsc  aotyuTepai ;  isn't  that  good  Greek  and 
good  sense  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  it.  They'll  only  laugh  and  sneer  if  we  go 
back  now." 

"  They'll  laugh  at  us  twice  as  much  if  we  don't. 
Fancy !  they're  just  beginning  pool  now  on  that  stunning 
table.  Come  along,  Brown ;  don't  miss  your  chance. 
We  shall  be  sure  to  divide  the  pools,  as  we've  missed  the 
claret.  Cool  hands  and  cool  heads,  you  know  !  Green 
on  brown,  pink  your  player  in  hand !  That's  a  good  deal 
pleasanter  than  squatting  here  all  night  on  the  damp 
grass." 

"  Very  likely." 

"  But  you  wont  ?  Now,  do  be  reasonable.  Will  you 
come  if  I  stop  with  you  another  half-hour  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  An  hour  then  ?     Say  till  ten  o'clock  ?  " 

"  If  I  went  at  all,  I  would  go  at  once." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  225 

"  Then  you  wont  come  ?  " 

«  No." 

"  I'll  bet  you  a  sovereign  you  never  see  a  poacher,  and 
then  how  sold  you  will  be  in  the  morning !  It  will  be 
much  worse  coming  in  to  breakfast  with  empty  hands  and 
a  cold  in  the  head,  than  going  in  now.  They  will  chaff 
then,  I  grant  you." 

"  Well,  then,  they  may  chaff  and  be  hanged,  for  I 
sha'n't  go  in  now." 

Tom's  interlocutor  put  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
heather  mixture  shooting-coat,  and  took  a  turn  or  two  of 
some  dozen  yards,  backwards  and  forwards  above  the 
place  where  our  hero  was  sitting.  He  didn't  like  going 
in  and  facing  the  pool-players  by  himself;  so  he  stopped 
once  more  and  re-opened  the  conversation. 

"What  do  you  want  to  do  by  watching  all  night, 
Brown  ?  " 

"  To  show  the  keeper,  and  those  fellows  in-doors,  that 
I  mean  what  I  say.     I  said  I'd  do  it,  and  I  will." 

"  You  don't  want  to  catch  a  poacher,  then  ?  " 

"  I  don't  much  care :  I'll  catch  one  if  he  comes  in  my 
way  —  or  try  it  on,  at  any  rate." 

"  I  say,  Brown,  1  like  that ;  as  if  you  don't  poach  your- 
self. Why,  I  remember  when  the  Whiteham  keeper 
spent  the  best  part  of  a  week  outside  the  college  gates,  on 
the  look-out  for  you  and  Drysdale,  and  some  other  fel- 
lows." 

"  What  has  that  to  do  with  it  ?  " 

"  Why,  you  ought  to  have  more  fellow-feeling.  I  sup- 
pose you  go  on  the  principle  of  set  a  thief  to  catch  a 
thief." 

Tom  made  no  answer,  and  his  companion  went  on, — 

"  Come  along  now,  like  a  good  fellow.     If  you'll  come 


226  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

in  now,  we  can  come  out  again  all  fresh,  when  the  rest  go 
to  bed." 

"  Not  we.  I  sha'n't  go  in.  But  you  can  come  out 
again,  if  you  like ;  you'll  find  me  hereabouts." 

The  man  in  the  heather  mixture  had  now  shot  his  last 
bolt,  and  took  himself  off  to  the  house,  leaving  Tom  by 
the  river  side.  How  they  got  there  may  be  told  in  a  few 
words.  After  his  morning's  fishing,  and  conversation  with 
the  keeper,  he  had  gone  in  full  of  his  subject,  and  pro- 
pounded it  at  the  breakfast-table.  His  strictures  on  the 
knife  and  razor  business  produced  a  rather  wai*m  discus- 
sion, which  merged  in  the  question  whether  a  keeper's 
life  was  a  hard  one,  till  something  was  said  implying  that 
Wurley's  men  were  overworked.  The  master  took  this 
in  high  dudgeon,  and  words  ran  high.  In  the  discussion, 
Tom  remarked  {apropos  of  night-work)  that  he  would 
never  ask  another  man  to  do  what  he  would  not  do  him- 
self; which  sentiment  was  endorsed  by,  amongst  others, 
the  man  in  the  heather  mixture.  The  host  had  l-etorted, 
that  they  had  better  in  that  case  try  it  themselves  ;  which 
remark  had  the  effect  of  making  Tom  resolve  to  cut  short 
his  visit,  and  in  the  mean  time  had  brought  him  and  his 
ally  to  the  river  side  on  the  night  in  question. 

The  first  hour,  as  we  have  seen,  had  been  enough  for 
the  ally,  and  so  Tom  was  left  in  company  with  a  plaid,  a 
stick,  and  a  pipe,  to  spend  the  night  by  himself. 

It  was  by  no  means  the  first  night  he  had  spent  in  the 
open  air,  and  promised  to  be  a  pleasant  one  for  camping 
out.  It  was  almost  the  longest  day  in  the  year,  and  the 
weather  was  magnificent.  There  was  yet  an  hour  of  day- 
light, and  the  place  he  had  chosen  was  just  the  right  one 
for  enjoying  the  evening. 

He  was  sitting  under  one  of  a  clump  of  huge  old 
alders,  growing  on  the  thin  strip  of  land  already  noticed, 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  227 

which  divided  the  main  stream  from  the  deep  artificial 
ditch  which  fed  the  water-meadows.  On  his  left  the 
emerald-green  meadows  stretched  away  till  they  met  the 
enclosed  corn  land.  On  his  right  ran  the  main  stream, 
some  fifty  feet  in  breadth  at  this  point ;  on  the  opposite 
side  of  which  was  a  rough  piece  of  ground,  half  withey 
bed,  half  copse,  with  a  rank  growth  of  rushes  at  the 
water's  edge.  These  were  the  chosen  haunts  of  moor-hen 
and  water-rat,  whose  tracks  could  be  seen  by  dozens,  like 
small  open  doorways,  looking  out  on  to  the  river,  through 
which  ran  mysterious  little  paths  into  the  rush-wilderness 
beyond. 

The  sun  was  now  going  down  behind  the  copse,  through 
which  his  beams  came  aslant,  chequered  and  mellow. 
The  stream  ran  dimpling  down  by  him,  sleepily  swaying 
the  masses  of  weed,  under  the  surface  and  on  the  surface ; 
and  the  trout  rose  under  the  banks,  as  some  moth  or  gnat 
or  gleaming  beetle  fell  into  the  stream ;  here  and  there 
one  more  frolicsome  than  his  brethren  would  throw  him- 
self joyously  into  the  air.  The  swifts  rushed  close  by 
him,  in  companies  of  five  or  six,  and  wheeled,  and 
screamed,  and  dashed  away  again,  skimming  along  the 
water,  baffling  his  eye  as  he  tried  to  follow  their  flight. 
Two  kingfishers  shot  suddenly  up  on  to  their  supper 
station,  on  a  stunted  willow  stump,  some  twenty  yards 
below  him,  and  sat  there  in  the  glory  of  their  blue  backs 
and  cloudy  red  waistcoats,  watching  with  long,  sagacious 
beaks  pointed  to  the  water  beneath,  and  every  now  and 
then  dropping  like  flashes  of  light  into  the  stream,  and 
rising  again  with  what  seemed  one  motion,  to  their 
perches.  A  heron  or  two  were  fishing  about  the  mead- 
ows ;  and  he  watched  them  stalking  about  in  their  sober 
quaker  coats,  or  rising  on  slow  heavy  wing,  and  lumber- 
ing away  home  with  a  weird  cry.     He  heard  the  strong 


228  TOM    BKOWN    AT    OXFOIID. 

pinions  of  the  wood  pigeon  in  the  air,  and  then  from  the 
trees  above  his  head  came  the  soft  call,  "  Take-two-cow- 
Taffy,  take-two-cow-Taffy,"  with  which  that  fair  and  false 
bird  is  said  to  have  beguiled  the  hapless  Welchman  to  the 
gallows.  Presently,  as  he  lay  motionless,  the  timid  and 
graceful  little  water-hens  peered  out  from  their  doors  in 
the  rushes  opposite,  and,  seeing  no  cause  for  fear,  stepped 
daintily  into  the  water,  and  were  suddenly  surrounded 
by  little  bundles  of  black  soft  down,  which  went  paddling 
about  in  and  out  of  the  weeds,  encouraged  by  the  occa- 
sional sharp,  clear,  parental  "  keck  —  keck,"  and  merry 
little  dabchicks  popped  up  in  mid-stream,  and  looked 
round,  and  nodded  at  him,  pert  and  voiceless,  and  dived 
again ;  even  old  cunning  water-rats  sat  up  on  the  bank 
with  round  black  noses  and  gleaming  eyes,  or  took  solemn 
swims  out,  and  turned  up  their  tails  and  disappeared  for 
his  amusement.  A  comfortable  low  came  at  intervals 
from  the  cattle,  revelling  in  the  abundant  herbage.  All 
living  things  seemed  to  be  disporting  themselves,  and 
enjoying,  after  their  kind,  the  last  gleams  of  the  sunset, 
which  were  making  the  whole  vault  of  heaven  glow  and 
shimmer ;  and,  as  he  watched  them,  Tom  blessed  his  stars 
as  he  contrasted  the  river  side  with  the  glare  of  lamps 
and  the  click  of  balls  in  the  noisy  pool-room. 

Before  it  got  dark  he  bethought  him  of  making  sure  of 
his  position  once  more;  matters  might  have  changed  since 
he  chose  it  .before  dinnex-.  With  all  that  he  could  extract 
from  the  keeper,  and  his  own  experience  in  such  matters, 
it  had  taken  him  several  hours  hunting  up  and  down  the 
river  that  afternoon  before  he  had  hit  on  a  night-line. 
But  he  had  persevered,  knowing  that  this  was  the  only 
safe  evidence  to  start  from,  and  at  last  had  found  several, 
so  cunningly  set  that  it  was  clear  that  it  was  a  firstrate 
artist  in  the   poaching  line  against  whom  he  had  pitted 


TOM    BKOWN    AT    OXFORD.  229 

himself.  These  lines  must  have  been  laid  almost  under 
his  nose  on  that  very  day,  as  the  freshness  of  the  baits 
proved.  The  one  which  he  had  selected  to  watch  by  was 
under  the  bank,  within  a  few  yards  of  the  clump  of  alders 
where  he  was  now  sitting.  There  was  no  satisfactory 
cover  near  the  others  ;  so  he  had  chosen  this  one,  where 
he  would  be  pe«fectly  concealed  behind  the  nearest  trunk 
from  any  person  who  might  come  in  due  time  to  take  up 
the  line.  With  this  view,  then,  he  got  up,  and,  stepping 
carefully  on  the  thickest  grass  where  his  foot  would  leave 
no  mark,  went  to  the  bank,  and  felt  with  the  hook  of  his 
stick  after  the  line.  It  was  all  right,  and  he  returned  to 
his  old  seat. 

And  then  the  summer  twilight  came  on,  and  the  birds 
disappeared,  and  the  hush  of  night  settled  down  on  river 
and  copse  and  meadow  —  cool  and  gentle  summer  twilight 
after  the  hot,  bright  day.  He  welcomed  it  too,  as  it  folded 
up  the  landscape,  and  the  trees  lost  their  outline,  and  set- 
tled into  soft  black  masses  rising  here  and  there  out  of  the 
white  mist,  which  seemed  to  have  crept  up  to  within  a  few 
yards  all  around  him  unawares.  There  was  no  sound 
now  but  the  gentle  murmur  of  the  water,  and  an  occasional 
rustle  of  reeds,  or  of  the  leaves  over  his  head,  as  a  stray 
wandering  puff  of  air  passed  through  them  on  its  way 
home  to  bed.  Nothing  to  listen  to,  and  nothing  to  look 
at ;  for  the  moon  had  not  risen,  and  the  light  mist  hid 
every  tiling  except  a  star  or  two  right  up  above  him.  So, 
the  outside  world  having  left  him  for  the  present,  he  was 
turned  inwards  on  himself. 

This  was  all  very  well  at  first ;  and  he  wrapped  the 
plaid  round  his  shoulders  and  leant  against  his  tree,  and 
indulged  in  a  little  self-gratulation.  There  was  something 
of  strangeness  and  adventure  in  his  solitary  night-watch, 
which  had  its  charm  for  a  youngster  of  twenty-one ;  and 
20 


230  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

the  consciousness  of  not  running  word,  of  doing  what  he 
had  said  he  would  do,  while  others  shirked  and  broke 
down,  was  decidedly  pleasant. 

But  this  satisfaction  did  not  last  very  long,  and  the  night 
began  to  get  a  little  wearisome,  and  too  cool  to  be  quite 
comfortable.  By  degrees  doubts  as  to  the  wisdom  of  his 
self-imposed  task  crept  into  his  head.  Undismissed  them 
for  a  time  by  turning  his  thoughts  to  other  matters.  The 
neighborhood  of  Englebourn,  some  two  miles  up  above 
him,  reminded  him  of  the  previous  summer;  and  he  won- 
dered how  he  should  get  on  with  his  cousin  when  they 
met.  He  should  probably  see  her  the  next  day,  for  he 
would  lose  no  time  in  calling.  Would  she  receive  him 
well  ?     Would  she  have  much  to  tell  him  about  Mary  ? 

He  had  been  more  hopeful  on  this  subject  of  late,  but 
the  loneliness,  the  utter  solitude  and  silence  of  his  posi- 
tion, as  he  sat  there  in  the  misty  night,  away  from  all  hu- 
man habitations,  was  not  favorable  somehow  to  hopeful- 
ness. He  found  himself  getting  dreary  and  sombre  in 
heart,  more  and  more  so  as  the  minutes  rolled  on,  and  the 
silence  and  loneliness  pressed  on  him  more  and  more 
heavily.  He  was  surprised  at  his  own  down-heartedness, 
and  tried  to  remember  how  he  had  spent  former  nights  so 
pleasantly  out  of  doors.  Ah,  he  had  always  had  a  com- 
panion within  call,  and  something  to  do  —  cray  fishing, 
bat  fowling,  or  something  of  the  kind  ?  Sitting  there,  do- 
ing nothing,  he  fancied,  must  make  it  so  heavy  to-night. 
By  a  strong  effort  of  will  he  shook  off  the  oppression.  He 
moved,  and  hummed  a  tune  to  break  the  silence ;  he  got 
up  and  walked  up  and  down,  lest  it  should  again  master 
him.  If  wind,  storm,  pouring  rain,  any  thing  to  make 
sound  or  movement,  would  but  come  ! 

But  neither  of  them  came,  and  there  was  little  help  in 
sound  or  movement  made  by  himself.    Besides,  it  occurred 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  231 

to  him  that  much  walking  up  and  down  might  defeat  the 
object  of  his  watch.  No  one  would  come  near  while  he 
was  on  the  move  ;  and  he  was  probably  making  marks  al- 
ready which  might  catch  the  eye  of  the  setter  of  the  night- 
lines  at  some  distance,  if  that  cunning  party  waited  for  the 
morning  light,  and  might  keep  him  away  from  the  place 
altogether. 

So  he  sat  down  again  on  his  old  seat,  and  leant  hard 
against  the  alder  trunk,  as  though  to  steady  himself,  and 
keep  all  troublesome  thoughts  well  in  front  of  him.  In 
this  attitude  of  defence,  he  reasoned  with  himself  on  the 
absurdity  of  allowing  himself  to  be  depressed  by  the  mere 
accidents  of  place  and  darkness  and  silence ;  but  all  the 
reasoning  at  his  command  didn't  alter  the  fact.  He  felt 
the  enemy  advancing  again,  and,  casting  about  for  help, 
fell  back  on  the  thought  that  he  was  going  through  a  task, 
holding  to  his  word,  doing  what  he  had  said  he  would  do ; 
and  this  brought  him  some  relief  for  the  moment.  He 
fixed  his  mind  steadily  on  this  task  of  his ;  but  alas,  here 
again,  in  his  very  last  stronghold  the  enemy  began  to  turn 
his  flank,  and  the  position  every  minute  became  more  and 
more  untenable. 

He  had  of  late  fallen  into  a  pestilent  habit  of  cross- 
questioning  himself  on  any  thing  which  he  was  about — 
setting  up  himself  like  a  cock  at  Shrove-tide,  and  pelting 
himself  with  inexorable  "  whys  ?  "  and  "  wherefores  ?  " 
A  pestilent  habit  truly  he  had  found  it,  and  one  which 
left  a  man  no  peace  of  his  life — a  relentless,  sleepless 
habit,  always  ready  to  take  advantage  of  him,  but  never 
so  viciously  alert,  that  he  remembered,  as  on  this  night. 

And  so  this  questioning  self,  which  would  never  be  de- 
nied for  long,  began  to  examine  him  as  to  his  proposed 
night's  work.  This  precious  task,  which  he  was  so  proud 
of  going  through  with,  on  the  score  of  which  he  had  been 


232  TOM   BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

in  his  heart  crowing  over  others,  because  they  had  not 
taken  it  on  them,  or  had  let  it  drop,  what  then  was  the 
meaning  of  it  ? 

"  What  was  he  out  there  for?  What  had  he  come  out 
to  do  ?  "  They  were  awkward  questions.  He  tried  sev- 
eral answers,  and  was  driven  from  one  to  another  till  he 
was  bound  to  admit  that  he  was  out  there  that  night,  partly 
out  of  pique,  and  partly  out  of  pride :  and  that  his  object 
(next  to  earning  the  pleasure  of  thinking  himself  a  better 
man  than  his  neighbors)  was,  if  so  be,  to  catch  a  poacher. 
"  To  catch  a  poacher  ?  What  business  had  he  to  be  catch- 
ing poachers?  If  all  poachers  were  to  be  caught,  he 
would  have  to  be  caught  himself."  He  had  just  had  an 
unpleasant  reminder  of  this  fact  from  him  of  the  heather 
mixtures — a  Parthian  remark  which  he  had  thrown  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  went  off,  and  which  had  stuck.  "  But 
then,"  Tom  argued,  "it  was  a  very  different  thing,  his 
poaching — going  out  for  a  day's  lark  after  game,  which 
he  didn't  care  a  straw  for,  but  only  for  the  sport — and  that 
of  men  making  a  trade  of  it,  like  the  man  the  keeper  spoke 
of.  Why?  How  different?  If  there  were  any  differ- 
ence, was  it  one  in  his  favor  ?  "  Avoiding  this  suggestion, 
he  took  up  new  ground.  "  Poachers  were  always  the  great- 
est blackguards  in  their  neighborhoods,  pests  of  society, 
and  ought  to  be  put  down.  Possibly — at  any  rate  he  had 
been  one  of  the  fraternity  in  his  time,  and  was  scarcely 
the  man  to  be  casting  stones  at  them.  Bat  his  poaching 
had  always  been  done  thoughtlessly.  How  did  he  know 
that  others  had  worse  motives  ?  " 

And  so  he  went  on,  tossing  the  matter  backwards  and 
forwards  in  his  mind,  and  getting  more  and  more  uncom- 
fortable, and  unable  to  answer  to  his  own  satisfaction  the 
simple  question,  "  What  right  have  you  to  be  out  here  on 
this  errand  ?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  233 

He  got  up  a  second  time  and  walked  up  and  down,  but 
with  no  better  success  than  before.  The  change  of  posi- 
tion and  exercise  did  not  help  him  out  of  his  difficulties. 
And  now  he  got  a  step  further.  If  he  had  no  right  to  be 
there,  hadn't  he  better  go  up  to  the  house  and  say  so,  and 
go  to  bed  like  the  rest  ?  No,  his  pride  couldn't  stand  that. 
But  if  he  couldn't  go  in,  he  might  turn  into  a  barn  or  out- 
house ;  nobody  would  be  any  the  wiser  then,  and  after  all 
he  was  not  pledged  to  stop  on  one  spot  all  night  ?  It  was 
a  tempting  suggestion,  and  he  was  very  near  yielding  to 
it  at  once.  While  he  wavered,  a  new  set  of  thoughts 
came  up  to  back  it.  How,  if  he  stayed  there,  and  a  gang 
of  night  poachers  came  ?  He  knew  that  many  of  them 
were  desperate  men.  He  had  no  arms  ;  what  could  he 
do  against  them  ?  Nothing  ;  but  he  might  be  maimed  lor 
life  in  a  night  row  which  he  had  no  business  to  be  in — 
murdered,  perhaps.  He  stood  still  and  listened,  long  and 
painfully. 

Every  moment,  as  he  listened,  the  silence  mastered  him 
more  and  more,  and  his  reason  became  more  and  more 
powerless.  It  was  such  a  silence — a  great,  illimitable, 
vague  silence !  The  silence  of  a  deserted  house,  where 
he  could  at  least  have  felt  that  he  was  bounded  some- 
where, by  wall  and  floor  and  roof — where  men  must 
have  lived  and  worked  once,  though  they  might  be  there 
no  longer — would  have  been  nothing  ;  but  this  silence  of 
the  huge,  wide,  out-of-doors  world,  where  there  was  noth- 
ing but  air  and  space  around  and  above  him  and  the  ground 
beneath,  it  was  getting  irksome,  intolerable,  awful !  The 
great  silence  seemed  to  be  saying  to  him,  "  You  are  alone, 
alone,  alone  !  "  and  he  had  never  known  before  what  hor- 
ror lurked  in  that  thought. 

Every  moment  that  he  stood,  still  the  spell  grew  on  him, 
and  yet  he  dared  not  move;  and  a  strange,  wild  feeling 
of  fear — unmistakable  physical  fear,  which  made  his  heart 
20* 


234  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

beat  and  his  limbs  tremble — seized  on  him.  He  was  ready 
to  cry  out,  to  fall  down,  to  run,  and  yet  there  he  stood 
listening,  still  and  motionless. 

The  critical  moment  in  all  panics  must  come  at  last. 
A  wild  and  grewsome  hissing  and  snoring,  which  seemed 
to  come  from  the  air  just  over  his  head,  made  him  start 
and  spring  forward,  and  gave  him  the  use  of  his  limbs 
again,  at  any  rate,  though  they  would  not  have  been  worth 
much  to  him  had  the  ghost  or  hobgoblin  appeared  whom 
he  half  expected  to  see  the  next  moment.  Then  came  a 
screech,  which  seemed  to  flit  along  the  rough  meadow  op- 
posite, and  come  towards  him.  He  drew  a  long  breath, 
for  he  knew  that  sound  well  enough ;  it  was  nothing  after 
all  but  the  owls. 

The  mere  realized  consciousness  of  the  presence  of  some 
living  creatures,  were  they  only  owls,  brought  him  to  his 
senses.  And  now  the  moon  was  well  up,  and  the  way- 
ward mist  had  cleared  away,  and  he  could  catch  glimpses 
of  the  solemn  birds  every  now  and  then,  beating  over  the 
rough  meadow  backwards  and  forwards  and  over  the  shal- 
low water,  as  regularly  as  trained  pointers. 

He  threw  himself  down  again  under  his  tree,  and  now 
bethought  himself  of  his  pipe.  Here  was  a  companion 
which,  wonderful  to  say,  he  had  not  thought  of  before 
since  the  night  set  in.  He  pulled  it  out,  but  paused  be- 
fore lighting.  Nothing  was  so  likely  to  betray  his  where- 
abouts as  tobacco.  True,  but  any  thing  was  better  than 
such  another  fright  as  he  had  had,  "  so  here  goes,"  he 
thought ;  "if  I  keep  off  all  the  poachers  in  Berkshire ; " 
and  he  accordingly  lighted  up,  and,  with  the  help  of  his 
pipe,  once  more  debated  with  himself  the  question  of  beat- 
ing a  retreat. 

After  a  sharp  inward  struggle,  he  concluded  to  stay  and 
see  it  out.  He  should  despise  himself,  more  than  he  cared 
to  face,  if  he  gave   in  now.     If  he   left  that  spot  before 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  2oO 

morning,  the  motive  would  be  sheer  cowardice.  There 
might  be  fifty  other  good  reasons  for  going ;  but  if  he 
went,  his  reason  would  be  fear  and  nothing  else.  It  might 
have  been  wrong  and  foolish  to  come  out ;  it  must  be  to 
go  in  now.  "  Fear  never  made  a  man  do  a  right  action," 
he  summed  up  to  himself;  "so  here  I  stop,  come  what 
may  of  it.  I  think  I've  seen  the  worst  of  it  now.  I  was 
in  a  real  blue  funk,  and  no  mistake.  Let's  see,  wasn't  I 
laughing  this  morning  at  the  watcher  who  didn't  like  pass- 
ing a  night  by  the  river  ?  Well,  he  has  got  the  laugh  of 
me  now,  if  he  only  knew  it.  I've  learnt  one  lesson  to- 
night at  any  rate  ;  I  don't  think  I  shall  ever  be  very  hard 
on  cowards  again." 

By  the  time  he  had  finished  his  pipe,  he  was  a  man 
again,  and,  moreover,  notwithstanding  the  damp,  began  to 
feel  sleepy,  now  that  his  mind  was  thoroughly  made  up, 
and  his  nerves  were  quiet.  So  he  made  the  best  of  his 
plaid,  and  picked  a  softish  place,  and  went  off  soon  into  a 
sort  of  dog  sleep,  which  lasted  at  intervals  through  the 
rest  of  the  short  summer  night.  A  poor  thin  sort  of  sleep 
it  was,  in  which  he  never  altogether  lost  his  consciousness, 
and  broken  by  short  intervals  of  actual  wakefulness,  but  a 
blessed  release  from  the  self-questionings  and  panics  of  the 
early  night. 

lie  woke  at  last  with  a  shiver.  It  was  colder  than  he 
had  yet  felt  it,  and  it  seemed  lighter.  He  stretched  his 
half-torpid  limbs,  and  sat  up.  Yes,  it  was  certainly  getting 
light,  for  he  could  just  make  out  the  figures  on  the  face 
of  his  watch  which  he  pulled  out.  The  dawn  was  almost 
upon  him,  and  his  night-watch  was  over.  Nothing  had 
conn;  of  it  as  yet,  except  his  fright,  at  which  he  could  now 
laugh  comfortably  enough  ;  probably  nothing  more  might 
come  of  it  after  all,  but  he  had  done  the  task  he  had  set 
himself  without  flinching,  and  that  was  a  satisfaction.    He 


236  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

wound  up  his  watch,  which  he  had  forgotten  to  do  the 
night  before,  and  then  stood  up,  and  threw  his  damp  plaid 
aside,  and  swung  his  arms  across  his  chest  to  restore  cir- 
culation. The  crescent  moon  was  high  up  in  the  sky, 
faint  and  white,  and  he  could  scarcely  now  make  out  the 
stars,  which  were  fading  out  as  the  glow  in  the  north-east 
got  stronger  and  broader. 

Forgetting  for  a  moment  the  purpose  of  his  vigil,  he 
was  thinking  of  a  long  morning's  fishing,  and  had  turned 
to  pick  up  his  plaid  and  go  off  to  the  house  for  his  fishing- 
rod,  when  he  thought  he  heard  the  sound  of  dry  wood 
snapping.  He  listened  intently ;  and  the  next  moment  it 
came  again,  some  way  off,  but  plainly  to  be  heard  in  the 
intense  stillness  of  the  morning.  Some  living  thing  was 
moving  down  the  stream.  Another  moment's  listening, 
and  he  was  convinced  that  the  sound  came  from  a  hedge 
some  hundred  yards  below. 

He  had  noticed  the  hedge  before ;  the  keeper  had 
stopp>ed  up  a  gap  in  it  the  day  before,  at  the  place  where 
it  came  down  to  the  water,  with  some  old  hurdles  and  dry 
thorns.  He  drew  himself  up  behind  his  alder,  looking 
out  from  behind  it  cautiously  towards  the  point  from 
which  the  sound  came.  He  could  just  make  out  the 
hedge  through  the  mist,  but  saw  nothing. 

But  now  the  crackling  began  again,  and  he  was  sure 
that  a  man  was  forcing  his  way  over  the  keeper's  barri- 
cade. A  moment  afterwards  he  saw  a  figure  drop  from 
the  hedge  into  the  slip  in  which  he  stood.  He  drew  back 
his  head  hastily,  and  his  heart  beat  like  a  hammer  as  he 
waited  the  approach  of  the  stranger.  In  a  few  seconds 
the  suspense  was  too  much  for  him,  for  again  there  was 
perfect  silence.  Pie  peered  out  a  second  time  cautiously 
round  the  tree,  and  now  he  could  make  out  the  figure  of 
a  man  stooping  by  the  water-side  just  above  the  hedge, 
and  drawing  in  a  line.     This  was  enough,  and  he  drew 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  237 

back  again,  and  made  himself  small  behind  the  tree ;  now 
he  was  sure  that  the  keeper's  enemy,  the  man  he  had  come 
out  to  take,  was  here.  His  next  halt  would  be  at  the 
line  which  was  set  within  a  few  yards  of  the  place  where 
he  stood.  So  the  struggle  which  he  had  courted  was 
come !  All  his  doubts  of  the  night  wrestled  in  his  mind 
for  a  minute ;  but,  forcing  them  down,  he  strung  himself 
up  for  the  encounter,  his  whole  frame  trembling  with  the 
excitement,  and  his  blood  tingling  through  his  veins  as 
though  it  would  burst  them.  The  next  minute  was  as  se- 
vere a  trial  of  nerve  as  he  had  ever  been  put  to,  and  the 
sound  of  a  stealthy  tread  on  the  grass  just  below  came  to 
him  as  a  relief.  It  stopped,  and  he  heard  the  man  stoop, 
then  came  a  stir  in  the  water,  and  the  flapping  as  of  a  fish 
being  landed. 

Now  was  his  time !  He  sprang  from  behind  the  tree, 
and,  the  next  moment,  was  over  the  stooping  figure  of  the 
poacher.  Before  he  could  seize  him,  the  man  sprang  up, 
and  grappled  with  him.  They  had  come  to  a  tight  lock 
at  once,  for  the  poacher  had  risen  so  close  under  him  that 
he  could  not  catch  his  collar  and  hold  him  off.  Too  close 
to  strike,  it  was  a  desperate  trial  of  strength  and  bottom. 

Tom  knew  in  a  moment  that  lie  had  his  work  cut  out 
for  him.  He  felt  the  nervous  power  of  the  frame  he  had 
got  hold  of  as  he  drove  his  chin  into  the  poacher's  shoul- 
der, and  arched  his  back,  and  strained  every  muscle  in 
his  body  to  force  him  backwards,  but  in  vain.  It  was  all 
he  could  do  to  hold  his  own  ;  but  he  felt  that  he  might 
hold  it  yet,  as  they  staggered  on  the  brink  of  the  back 
ditch,  stamping  the  grass  and  marsh  marigolds  into  the 
ground,  and  drawing  deep  breath  through  their  set  teeth. 
A  slip,  a  false  foothold,  a  failing  muscle,  and  it  would  be 
over;  down  they  must  go  —  who  wrould  be  uppermost? 

The  poacher  trod  on  a  soft  place,  and  Tom  felt  it,  and, 
throwing  himself  forward,  was  reckoning  on  victory,  but 


238 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 


reckoning  without  his  host ;  for,  recovering  himself  with  a 
twist  of  the  hody  which  brought  them  still  closer  together, 
the  poacher  locked  his  leg  behind  Tom's  in  a  crook  which 
brought  the  wrestlings  of  his  boyhood  into  his  head  with 
a  flash,  as  they  tottered  for  another  moment,  and  then  los- 
ing balance,  went  headlong  over  with  a  heavy  plunge  and 
splash  into  the  deep  back  ditch,  locked  tight  in  each  other's 
arms. 

The  cold  water  closed  over  them,  and  for  a  moment 
Tom  held  as  tight  as  ever.  Under  or  above  the  surface, 
it  was  all  the  same,  he  couldn't  give  in  first.  But  a  gulp 
of  water,  and  the  singing  in  his  ears,  and  a  feeling  of 
choking,  brought  him  to  his  senses,  helped  too  by  the 
thought  of  his  mother  and  Mary,  and  love  of  the  pleasant 
world  up  above.  The  folly  and  uselessness  of  being 
drowned  in  a  ditch  on  a  point  of  honor  stood  out  before 
him  as  clearly  as  if  he  had  been  thinking  of  nothing  else 
all  his  life ;  and  he  let  go  his  hold  —  much  relieved  to 
find  that  his  companion  of  the  bath  seemed  equally  willing 
to  be  quit  of  him  —  and  struggled  to  the  surface,  and 
seized  the  bank,  gasping  and  exhausted. 

His  first  thought  was  to  turn  round  and  look  for  his 
adversary.  The  poacher  was  by  the  bank  too,  a  few  feet 
from  him.  His  cap  had  fallen  off  in  the  struggle,  and, 
all  chance  of  concealment  being  over,  he  too  had  turned 
to  face  the  matter  out,  and  their  eyes  met. 

"  Good  God  !  Harry !  is  it  you  ?  " 

Harry  Winburn  answered  nothing ;  and  the  two  dragged 
their  feet  out  of  the  soft,  muddy  bottom,  and  scrambled  on 
to  the  bank,  and  then  with  a  sort  of  common  instinct  sat 
down,  dripping  and  foolish,  each  on  the  place  he  had 
reached,  and  looked  at  one  another.  Probably  two  more 
thoroughly  bewildered  lieges  of  her  majesty  were  not  at 
that  moment  facing  one  another  in  any  corner  of  the 
United  Kingdom. 


CHAPTER  XV. 


MART    IN    MAYFAIR. 


Ox  the  night  which  our  hero  spent  by  the  side  of  the 
river,  with  the  results  detailed  in  the  last  chapter,  there 
was  a  great  ball  in  Brook  Street,  Mayfair.  It  was  the 
height  of  the  season  ;  and,  of  course,  balls,  concerts,  and 
parties  of  all  kinds  were  going  on  in  all  parts  of  the  Great 
Babylon,  but  the  entertainment  in  question  was  the  event 
of  that  evening.  Persons  behind  the  scenes  would  have 
told  you  at  once,  had  you  happened  to  meet  them,  and 
inquire  on  the  subject  during  the  previous  ten  days,  that 
Brook  Street  was  the  place  in  which  everybody  who 
went  anywhere  ought  to  spend  some  hours  between 
eleven  and  three  on  this  particular  evening.  If  you  did 
not  happen  to  be  going  there,  you  had  better  stay  quietly 
at  your  club,  or  elsewhere,  and  not  speak  of  your  engage- 
ments for  that  night. 

A  great  awning  had  sprung  up  in  the  course  of  the 
day  over  the  pavement  in  front  of  the  door,  and  as  the 
evening  closed  in,  tired  lawyers  and  merchants,  on  their 
return  from  the  city,  and  the  riders  and  drivers  on  their 
way  home  from  the  park,  might  have  seen  Holland's  men 
laying  red  drugget  over  the  pavement,  and  Gunter's  carts 
coming  and  going,  and  the  police  "  moving  on"  the  street 
boys  and  servant-maids,  and  other  curious  members  of 
tli''  masses,  who  paused  to  stare  at  the  preparations. 

Then  came  the  lighting  up  of  the  rooms,  and  the  blaze 


210  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFOUD. 

of  pure  white  light  from  the  uncurtained  bull-room  win- 
dows spread  into  the  street,  and  the  musicians  passed  in 
with  their  instruments.  Then,  after  a  short  pause,  the 
carriages  of  a  few  intimate  friends,  who  came  early  at  the 
hostess'  express  desire,  began  to  drive  up,  and  the  Han- 
som cabs  of  the  contemporaries  of  the  eldest  son,  from 
which  issued  guardsmen  and  foreign-office  men,  and  other 
dancing-youth  of  the  most  approved  description.  Then 
the  crowd  collected  again  round  the  door  —  a  sadder 
crowd  now  to  the  eye  of  any  one  who  has  time  to  look  at 
it ;  with  sallow,  haggard-looking  men  here  and  there  on 
the  skirts  of  it,  and  tawdry  women  joking  and  pushing  to 
the  front,  through  the  powdered  footmen,  and  linkmen  in 
red  waistcoats,  already  clamorous  and  redolent  of  gin  and 
beer,  and  scarcely  kept  back  by  the  half-dozen  constables 
of  the  A  division,  told  off  for  the  special  duty  of  attending 
and  keeping  order  on  so  important  an  occasion. 

Then  comes  a  rush  of  carriages,  and  by  eleven  o'clock 
the  line  stretches  away  half  round  Grosvenor  Square, 
and  moves  at  a  foot's-pace  towards  the  lights  and  the 
music  and  the  shouting  street.  In  the  middle  of  the  line 
is  the  comfortable  chariot  of  our  friend,  Mr.  Porter  —  the 
corners  occupied  by  himself  and  his  wife,  while  Miss 
Mary  sits  well  forward  between  them,  her  white  muslin 
dress,  looped  up  with  sprigs  of  heather,  spread  delicately 
on  either  side  over  their  knees,  and  herself  in  a  pleasant 
tremor  of  impatience  and  excitement. 

"  How  very  slow  Robert  is  to-day,  mamma  !  we  shall 
never  get  to  the  house.*' 

"  He  cannot  get  on  faster,  my  dear.  The  carriages  in 
front  of  us  must  set  down,  you  know." 

"  But  I  wish  they  would  be  quicker.  I  wonder  whether 
we  shall  know  many  people  ?  Do  you  think  I  shall  get 
partners  ?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  241 

Not  waiting  for  her  mother's  reply,  she  went  on  to 
name  some  of  her  acquaintance,  whom  she  knew  would 
he  there,  and  bewailing  the  hard  fate  which  was  keeping 
her  out  of  the  first  dances.  Mary's  excitement  and  im- 
patience were  natural  enough.  The  ball  was  not  like 
most  balls.  It  was  a  great  battle  in  the  midst  of  the 
skirmishes  of  the  season,  and  she  felt  the  greatness  of  the 
occasion. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter  had  for  years  past  dropped  into  a 
quiet  sort  of  dinner-giving  life,  in  which  they  saw  few  but 
their  own  friends  and  contemporaries.  They  generally 
left  London  before  the  season  was  at  its  height,  and  had 
altogether  fallen  out  of  the  ball-giving  and  party-going 
world.  Mary's  coming  out  had  changed  their  way  of 
life.  For  her  sake  they  had  spent  the  winter  at  Rome, 
and,  now  that  they  were  at  home  again,  were  picking  up 
the  threads  of  old  acquaintance,  and  encountering  the  dis- 
agreeables of  a  return  into  habits  long  disused  and  al- 
most forgotten.  The  giver  of  the  ball  was  a  stirring  man 
in  political  life,  rich,  clever,  well  connected,  and  much 
sought  after.  He  was  an  old  schoolfellow  of  Mr.  Por- 
ter, and  their  intimacy  had  never  been  wholly  laid  aside, 
notwithstanding  the  severance  of  their  paths  in  life.  Now 
that  Mary  must  be  taken  out,  the  Brook  Street  house 
was  one  of  the  first  to  which  the  Porters  turned,  and  the 
invitation  to  this  ball  was  one  of  the  first  consequences. 

If  the  truth  must  be  told,  neither  her  father  nor  mother 
were  in  sympathy  with  Mary  as  they  gradually  neared 
the  place  of  setting  down,  and  would  far  rather  have  been 
going  to  a  much  less  imposing  place,  where  they  could 
have  driven  up  at  once  to  the  door,  and  would  not  have 
been  made  uncomfortable  by  the  shoutings  of  the*"  names 
from  servant  to  servant.  However,  after  the  first  plunge, 
when  they  had  made  their  bows  to  their  kind  and  smiling 
21 


242  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

hostess,  and  had  passed  on  into  the  already  well-filled 
rooms,  their  shyness  began  to  wear  off",  and  they  could  in 
some  sort  enjoy  the  beauty  of  the  sight  from  a  quiet  cor- 
ner. They  were  not  long  troubled  with  Miss  Mary. 
She  had  not  been  in  the  ball-room  two  minutes  before  the 
eldest  son  of  the  house  had  found  her  out  and  engaged 
her  for  the  next  waltz.  They  had  met  several  times  al- 
ready, and  were  on  the  best  terms ;  and  the  freshness  and 
brightness  of  her  look  and  manner,  and  the  evident  enjoy- 
ment of  her  partner,  as  they  laughed  and  talked  together 
in  the  intervals  of  the  dance,  soon  attracted  the  attention 
of  other  young  men,  who  began  to  ask  one  another  "  Who 
is  Norman  dancing  with  ?  "  and  to  ejaculate  with  various 
strength,  according  to  their  several  temperaments,  as  to 
her  face  and  figure  and  dress. 

As  they  were  returning  towards  Mrs.  Porter,  Norman 
was  pulled  by  the  sleeve  more  than  once,  and  begged  to 
be  allowed  to  introduce  first  one  and  then  another  of  his 
friends. 

Mary  gave  herself  up  to  the  fascination  of  the  scene. 
She  had  never  been  in  rooms  so  perfectly  lighted,  with 
such  a  floor,  such  exquisite  music,  and  so  many  pretty 
and  well-bred  looking  people,  and  she  gave  herself  up  to 
enjoy  it  with  all  her  heart  and  soul,  and  danced  and 
laughed  and  talked  herself  into  the  good  graces  of  part- 
ner after  partner,  till  she  began  to  attract  the  notice  of 
some  of  the  ill-natured  people  who  are  to  be  found  in 
every  room,  and  who  cannot  pardon  the  pure  and  buoy- 
ant and  unsuspecting  mirth  which  carries  away  all  but 
themselves  in  its  bright  stream.  So  Mary  passed  on 
from  one  partner  to  another,  with  whom  we  have  no  con- 
cern, nntil  at  last  a  young  lieutenant  in  the  guards,  who 
had  just  finished  his  second  dance  with  her,  led  up  a 
friend  whom  he  begged  to  introduce.     "  Miss  Porter  — 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  243 

Mr.  St.  Cloud  ; "  and  then,  after  the  usual  preliminaries, 
Mary  left  her  mother's  side  again  and  stood  up  by  the 
side  of  her  new  partner. 

"  It  is  your  first  season,  I  believe,  Miss  Porter  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  my  first  in  London." 

"  I  thought  so  ;  and  you  have  only  just  come  to  town  ?  " 

"  We  came  back  from  Rome  six  weeks  ago,  and  have 
been  in  town  ever  since." 

"  But  I  am  sure  I  have  not  seen  you  anywhere  this 
season  until  to-night.  You  have  not  been  out  much 
yet  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  ;  papa  and  mamma  are  very  good-na- 
tured, and  go  wherever  we  are  asked  to  a  ball,  as  I  am 
fond  of  dancing." 

"  How  very  odd !  and  yet  I  am  quite  sure  I  should 
have  remembered  it  if  we  had  met  before  in  town  this 
year." 

"  Is  it  so  very  odd  ?  "  asked  Mary,  laughing.  "  Lon- 
don is  a  very  large  place.  It  seems  very  natural  that 
two  people  should  be  able  to  live  in  it  for  a  long  time 
without  meeting." 

"  Indeed,  you  are  quite  mistaken.  You  will  find  out 
very  soon  how  small  London  is  —  at  least,  how  small 
society  is  ;  and  you  will  get  to  know  every  face  quite 
well  —  I  mean  the  face  of  every  one  in  society." 

"  You  must  have  a  wonderful  memory  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  have  a  good  memory  for  faces,  and,  by  the 
way,  I  am  sure  I  have  seen  you  before  ;  but  not  in  town, 
and  I  cannot  remember  where.  But  it  is  not  at  all  neces- 
sary to  have  a  memory  to  know  everybody  in  society  by 
sight ;  you  meet  every  night  almost ;  and  altogether  there 
are  only  two  or  three  hundred  faces  to  remember.  And 
then  there  is  something  in  the  look  of  people,  and  the 
way  they  come  into  a  room  or  stand  about,  which  tells 


244  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

you  at  once  whether  they  are  amongst  those  whom  you 
need  trouble  yourself  about." 

"  Well,  I  cannot  understand  it.  I  seem  to  be  in  a 
whirl  of  faces,  and  can  hardly  ever  remember  any  of 
them." 

"  You  will  soon  get  used  to  it.  By  the  end  of  the  sea- 
son you  will  see  that  I  am  right.  And  you  ought  to 
make  a  study  of  it,  or  you  will  never  feel  at  home  in 
London." 

"  I  must  make  good  use  of  my  time  then.  I  suppose  I 
ought  to  know  everybody  here,  for  instance  ?  " 

"  Almost-*everybody." 

"And  I  really  do  not  know  the  names  of  a  dozen  peo- 
ple." 

"  "Will  you  let  me  give  you  a  lesson  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes  ;  I  shall  be  much  obliged." 

"  Then  let  us  stand  here,  and  we  will  take  them  as  they 
pass  to  the  supper-room." 

So  they  stood  near  the  door-way  of  the  ball-room,  and 
he  ran  on,  exchanging  constant  nods  and  remarks  with  the 
passers-by,  as  the  stream  flowed  to  and  from  the  ices  and 
cup,  and  then  rattling  on  to  his  partner  with  the  names 
and  short  sketches  of  the  characters  and  peculiarities  of 
his  large  acquaintance.  Mary  was  very  much  amused, 
and  had  no  time  to  notice  the  ill-nature  of  most  of  his  re- 
marks ;  and  he  had  the  wit  to  keep  within  what  he  con- 
sidered the  most  innocent  bounds. 

"  There,  you  know  him,  of  course,"  he  said,  as  an  el- 
derly soldier-like  looking  man  with  a  star,  passed  them. 

"  Yes ;  at  least,  I  mean  I  know  him  by  sight.  I  saw 
him  at  the  Commemoration  at  Oxford  last  year.  They 
gave  him  an  honorary  degree  on  his  return  from  India." 

"  At  Oxford  !  Were  you  at  the  Grand  Commemora- 
tion then?" 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  245 

"  Yes.  The  Commemoration  Ball  was  the  first  public 
ball  I  was  ever  at." 

"  Ah  !  that  explains  it  all.  I  must  have  seen  you  there. 
I  told  you  we  had  met  before.  I  was  perfectly  sure  of 
it." 

"  What !  were  you  there,  then  !  " 

"  Yes.  I  had  the  honor  of  being  present  at  your  first 
ball,  you  see." 

"  But  how  curious  that  you  should  remember  me !  " 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?  Surely,  there  are  some  faces 
which,  once  seen,  one  can  never  forget." 

"  I  am  so  glad  that  you  know  dear  Oxford." 

"  I  know  it  too  well,  perhaps,  to  share  your  enthusi- 
asm." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  spent  nearly  three  years  there." 

"  What,  were  you  at  Oxford  last  year  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  I  left  before  Commemoration  :  but  I  went  up 
for  the  gayeties,  and  I  am  glad  of  it,  as  I  shall  have  one 
pleasant  memory  of  the  place  now." 

"  Oh,  I  wonder  you  don't  love  it !  But  what  college 
were  you  of?" 

"  Why,  you  talk  like  a  graduate.  I  was  of  St.  Am- 
brose." 

"  St.  Ambrose  !     That  is  my  college  !  " 

"  Indeed  !  I  wish  we  had  been  in  residence  at  the 
same  time." 

"  I  mean  that  we  almost  lived  there  at  the  Commemo- 
ration." 

"  Have  you  any  relation  there,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  not  a  relation,  only  a  distant  connection." 

"  Ma)r  I  ask  his  name  ?  " 

"  Brown.     Did  you  know  him  ?  " 
21* 


246  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Yes.  "We  were  not  in  the  same  set.  He  was  a  boat- 
ing man,  I  think  ?  " 

She  felt  that  he  was  watching  her  narrowly  now,  and 
had  great  difficulty  in  keeping  herself  reasonably  com- 
posed. As  it  was  she  could  not  help  showing  a  little  that 
she  felt  embarrassed,  and  looked  down  ;  and  changed  color 
slightly,  busying  herself  with  her  bouquet.  She  longed  to 
continue  the  conversation,  but  somehow  the  manner  of  her 
partner  kept  her  from  doing  so.  She  resolved  to  recur  to 
the  subject  carelessly,  if  they  met  again,  when  she  knew 
him  better.  The  fact  of  his  having  been  at  St.  Ambrose 
made  her  wish  to  know  him  better,  and  gave  him  a  good 
start  in  her  favor.  But  for  the  moment  she  felt  that  she 
must  change  the  subject ;  so,  looking  up,  she  fixed  on  the 
first  people  who  happened  to  be  passing,  and  asked  who 
they  were. 

"  Oh,  nobody.  Constituents,  probably,  or  something  of 
that  sort." 

"  I  don't  understand." 

"  Why,  you  see,  we  are  in  a  political  house  to-night. 
So  you  may  set  down  the  people  whom  nobody  knows,  as 
troublesome  ten-pounders,  or  that  kind  of  thing,  who  would 
be  disagreeable  at  the  next  election,  if  they  were  not 
asked." 

"  Then  you  do  not  include  them  in  society  ?  " 

"  By  no  manner  of  means." 

"  And  I  need  not  take  the  trouble  to  remember  their 
faces  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not.  There  is  a  sediment  of  rubbish  at  al 
most  every  house.  At  the  parties  here  it  is  political  rub- 
bish. To-morrow  night,  at  Lady  Aubrey's — you  will  be 
there,  I  hope  ?  " 

"  No,  I  think  not." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  247 

"  I  am  sorry  for  that.  Well,  there  we  shall  have  the 
scientific  rubbish  ;  and  at  other  houses  you  see  queer  art- 
ists, and  writing  people.  In  fact,  it  is  the  rarest  thing  in 
the  world  to  get  a  party  where  there  is  nothing  of  the 
kind,  and,  after  all,  it  is  rather  amusing  to  watch  the 
habits  of  the  different  species." 

"  Well,  to  me  the  rubbish,  as  you  call  it,  seems  much 
like  the  rest.  I  am  sure  those  people  were  ladies  and 
gentlemen." 

"  Very  likely,"  he  said,  lifting  his  eyebrows  ;  "  but  you 
may  see  at  a  glance  that  they  have  not  the  air  of  society. 
Here  again,  look  yourself.  You  can  see  that  these  are 
constituents." 

To  the  horror  of  St.  Cloud,  the  advancing  constituents 
made  straight  for  his  partner. 

"  Mary,  my  dear !  "  exclaimed  the  lady,  "  where  have 
you  been  ?     We  have  lost  you  ever  since  the  last  dance." 

"  I  have  been  standing  here,  mamma,"  she  said  ;  and 
then,  slipping  from  her  late  partner's  arm,  she  made  a  de- 
mure little  bow,  and  passed  into  the  ball-room  with  her 
father  and  mother. 

St.  Cloud  bit  his  lip,  and  swore  at  himself,  under  his 
breath,  as  he  looked  after  them.  "  What  an  infernal  idiot 
I  must  have  been  not  to  know  that  her  people  would  be 
sure  to  turn  out  something  of  that  sort ! "  thought  he. 
"  By  Jove,  I'll  go  after  them,  and  set  myself  right,  before 
the  little  minx  has  time  to  think  it  over  !  "  He  took  a  step 
or  two  towards  the  ball-room,  but  then  thought  better  of 
it,  or  his  courage  failed  him.  At  any  rate,  he  turned 
round  again,  and  sought  the  refreshment-room,  where  he 
joined  a  knot  of  young  gentlemen  indulging  in  delicate 
little  raised  pies  and  salads,  and  liberal  potations  of  iced 
claret  or  champagne  cup.    Amongst  them  was  the  guards- 


248  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

man,  who  had  introduced  him  to  Mary,  and  who  received 
him,  as  he  came  up,  with, — 

"  Well,  St.  Cloud,  I  hope  you're  alive  to  your  obliga- 
tions to  me." 

"  For  shunting  your  late  partner  on  to  me  ?  Yes, 
quite." 

"  You  be  hanged ! "  replied  the  guardsman  ;  "  you  may 
pretend  what  you  please  now,  but  you  wouldn't  let  me 
alone  till  I  had  introduced  you." 

"  Are  you  talking  about  the  girl  in  white  muslin  with 
fern  leaves  in  her  hair  ?  "  asked  another. 

"  Yes  ;  what  do  you  think  of  her  ?  " 

"  Devilish  taking,  I  think.  I  say,  can't  you  introduce 
me  ?     They  say  she  has  tin." 

"  I  can't  say  I  think  much  of  her  looks,"  said  St.  Cloud, 
acting  up  to  his  principle  of  telling  a  lie  sooner  than  let 
his  real  thoughts  be  seen. 

"  Don't  you  ?  "  said  the  guardsman.  "  "Well,  I  like  her 
form  better  than  any  thing  out  tins  year.  Such  a  clean 
stepper  !     You  should  just  dance  with  her." 

And  so  they  went  on,  criticising  Mary  and  others  of 
their  partners,  exactly  as  they  would  have  a  stud  of  rac- 
ers, till  they  found  themselves  sufficiently  refreshed  to  en- 
counter new  labors,  and  broke  up,  returning  in  twos  and 
threes  towards  the  ball-room. 

St.  Cloud  attached  himself  to  the  guardsman,  and  re- 
turned to  the  charge. 

"  You  seem  hit  by  that  girl,"  he  began.  "  Have  you 
known  her  long?" 

"  About  a  week  —  I  met  her  once  before  to-night." 

"  Do  you  know  her  people  ?     Who  is  her  father  ?  " 

"  A  plain-headed  old  party  —  you  wouldn't  think  it  to 
look  at  her  —  but  I  hear  he  is  very  solvent." 

"  Any  sons  ?  " 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  249 

"  Don't  know.  I  like  your  talking  of  my  being  hit,  St. 
Cloud.  There  she  is ;  I  shall  go  and  try  for  another 
waltz." 

The  guardsman  was  successful,  and  carried  off  Mary 
from  her  father  and  mother,  who  were  standing  together 
watching  the  dancing.  St.  Cloud,  after  looking  them  well 
over,  sought  out  the  hostess,  and  begged  to  be  introduced 
to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Porter,  gleaning,  at  the  same  time,  some 
particulars  of  who  they  were.  The  introduction  was  af- 
fected in  a  minute,  the  lady  of  the  house  being  glad  to  get 
any  one  to  talk  to  the  Porters,  who  were  almost  sti'angers 
amongst  her  other  guests.  She  managed,  before  leaving 
them,  to  whisper  to  Mrs.  Porter  that  he  was  a  young  man 
of  excellent  connections. 

St.  Cloud  made  the  most  of  his  time.  He  exerted 
himself  to  the  utmost  to  please,  and,  being  fluent  of 
speech,  and  thoroughly  satisfied  with  himself,  had  no 
shyness  or  awkwardness  to  get  over,  and  jumped  at  once 
into  the  good  graces  of  Mary's  parents.  When  she  re- 
turned after  the  waltz,  she  found  him,  to  her  no  small 
astonishment,  deep  in  conversation  with  her  mother,  who 
was  listening  with  a  pleased  expression  to  his  small  talk. 
He  pretended  not  to  see  her  at  first,  and  then  begged 
Mrs.  Porter  to  introduce  him  formally  to  her  daughter, 
though  he  had  already  had  the  honor  of  dancing  with 
her. 

Mary  put  on  her  shortest  and  coldest  manner,  and 
thought  she  had  never  heard  of  such  impertinence.  That 
he  should  be  there  talking  so  familiarly  to  her  mother 
after  the  slip  he  had  made  to  her  was  almost  too  much 
even  for  her  temper.  But  she  went  off  for  another 
dance,  and  again  returned  and  found  him  still  there ;  this 
time  entertaining  Mr.  Porter  with  political  gossip.  The 
unfavorable  impression  began  to  wear  off,  and  she  soon 


250  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

resolved  not  to  make  up  her  mind  about  him  without 
some  further  knowledge. 

In  due  course  he  asked  her  to  dance  again,  and  they 
stood  up  in  a  quadrille.  She  stood  by  him  looking 
straight  before  her,  and  perfectly  silent,  wondering  how 
he  would  open  the  conversation.  He  did  not  leave  her 
long  in  suspense. 

"  What  charming  people  your  father  and  mother  are, 
Miss  Porter ! "  he  said ;  "  I  am  so  glad  to  have  been  in- 
troduced to  them." 

"  Indeed !  You  are  very  kind.  "We  ought  to  be  flat- 
tered by  your  study  of  us,  and  I  am  sure  I  hope  you  will 
find  it  amusing." 

St.  Cloud  was  a  little  embarrassed  by  the  rejoinder, 
and  was  not  sorry  at  the  moment  to  find  himself  called 
upon  to  perform  the  second  figure.  By  the  time  he  was 
at  her  side  again  he  had  recovered  himself. 

"  You  can't  understand  what  a  pleasure  it  is  to  meet 
some  one  with  a  little  freshness "  —  he  paused  to  think 
how  he  should  end  his  sentence. 

"  Who  has  not  the  air  of  society,"  she  suggested.  "Yes, 
I  quite  understand." 

"  Indeed,  you  quite  mistake  me.  Surely,  you  have  not 
taken  seriously  the  nonsense  I  was  talking  just  now  ?  " 

"  I  am  a  constituent,  you  know  —  I  don't  understand 
how  to  take  the  talk  of  society." 

"  Oh,  I  see,  then,  that  you  are  angry  at  my  joke,  and 
will  not  believe  that  I  knew  your  father  perfectly  by 
sight.  You  really  cannot  seriously  fancy  that  I  was 
alluding  to  any  one  connected  with  you ; "  and  then  he 
proceeded  to  retail  the  particulars  he  had  picked  up  from 
the  lady  of  the  house,  as  if  they  had  been  familiar  to 
him  for  years,  and  to  launch  out  again  into  praises  of  her 
father  and  mother.     Mary  looked  straight  up  in  his  face, 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  251 

and,  though  he  did  not  meet  her  eye,  his  manner  was  so 
composed,  that  she  began  to  doubt  her  own  senses,  and 
then  he  suddenly  changed  the  subject  to  Oxford  and  the 
Commemoration,  and  by  the  end  of  the  set  could  flatter 
himself  that  he  had  quite  dispelled  the  cloud  which  had 
looked  so  threatening. 

Mary  had  a  great  success  that  evening.  She  danced 
every  dance,  and  might  have  had  two  or  three  partners  at 
once,  if  they  would  have  been  of  any  use  to  her.  When, 
at  last,  Mr.  Porter  insisted  that  he  would  keep  his  horses 
no  longer,  St.  Cloud  and  the  guardsman  accompanied  her 
to  the  door,  and  were  assiduous  in  the  cloak-room. 
Young  men  are  pretty  much  like  a  drove  of  sheep ;  any 
one  who  takes  a  decided  line  on  certain  matters,  is  sure 
to  lead  all  the  rest.  The  guardsman  left  the  ball  in  the 
firm  belief,  as  he  himself  expressed  it,  that  Mary  "  had 
done  his  business  for  life ; "  and,  being  quite  above  con- 
cealment, persisted  in  singing  her  praises  over  his  cigar 
at  the  club,  to  which  many  of  the  dancers  adjourned  ;  and 
from  that  night  she  became  the  fashion  with  the  set  in 
which  St.  Cloud  lived.  The  more  enterprising  of  them 
he  amongst  the  foremost,  were  soon  intimate  in  Mr.  Por- 
ter's house,  and  spoke  well  of  his  dinners.  Mr.  Porter 
changed  his  hour  of  riding  in  the  park  at  their  suggestion, 
and  now  he  and  his  daughter  were  always  sure  of  com- 
panions. Invitations  multiplied,  for  Mary's  success  was 
so  decided,  that  she  floated  her  astonished  parents  into  a 
whirl  of  balls  and  breakfasts.  Mr.  Porter  and  his  wife 
were  flattered  themselves,  and  pleased  to  see  their 
daughter  admired  and  enjoying  herself;  and  in  the  next 
six  weeks  Mary  had  the  opportunity  of  getting  all  the 
good  and  the  bad  which  a  girl  of  eighteen  can  extract 
from  a  London  season. 

The  test  was  a  severe  one.     Two  months  of  constant 


252  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

excitement,  of  pleasure-seeking  pure  and  simple,  will  not 
leave  people  just  as  they  found  them;  and  Mary's  habits, 
and  thoughts,  and  ways  of  looking  at  and  judging  of 
people  and  things,  were  much  changed  by  the  time  that 
the  gay  world  melted  away  from  Mayfair  and  Belgravia, 
and  it  was  time  for  all  respectable  people  to  pull  down 
the  blinds  and  shut  the  shutters  of  their  town  houses. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

WHAT    CAME    OF   THE   NIGHT-WATCH. 

The  last  knot  of  the  dancers  came  out  of  the  club,  and 
were  strolling  up  St.  James'  Street,  and  stopping  to  chaff 
the  itinerant  coffee  vendor,  who  was  preparing  his  stand 
at  the  corner  of  Piccadilly  for  his  early  customers,  just 
about  the  time  that  Tom  was  beginning  to  rouse  himself 
under  the  alder  tree,  and  stretch  his  stiffened  limbs,  and 
sniff  the  morning  air.  By  the  time  the  guardsman  had 
let  himself  into  his  lodgings  in  Mount  Street,  our  hero 
had  undergone  his  unlooked-for  bath,  and  was  sitting  in  a 
state  of  utter  bewilderment  as  to  what  was  next  to  be 
said  or  done,  dripping  and  disconcerted,  opposite  to  the 
equally  dripping,  and,  to  all  appearance,  equally  discon- 
certed, poacher. 

At  first  he  did  not  look  higher  than  his  antagonist's 
boots  and  gaiters,  and  spent  a  few  seconds  by  the  way  in 
considering  whether  the  arrangement  of  nails  on  the 
bottom  of  Harry's  boots  was  better  than  his  own.  He 
settled  that  it  must  be  better  for  wading  on  slippery 
stones,  and  that  he  would  adopt  it,  and  then  passed  on  to 
wonder  whether  Harry's  boots  were  as  full  of  water  as 
his  own,  and  whether  corduroys,  wet  through,  must  not 
be  very  uncomfortable  so  early  in  the  morning,  and  con- 
gratulated himself  on  being  in  flannels. 

And  so  lie  hung  back  for  second  after  second,  playing 
with  any  absurd  little  thought  that  would  come  into  his 
head  and  give  him  ever  so  brief  a  respite  from  the  effort 
22 


254  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

of  facing  the  situation,  and  hoping  that  Harry  might  do 
or  say  something  to  open  the  ball.  This  did  not  happen. 
He  felt  that  the  longer  he  waited  the  harder  it  would  be. 
He  must  begin  himself.  So  he  raised  his  head  gently, 
and  took  a  sidelong  look  at  Harry's  face,  to  see  whether 
he  could  not  get  some  hint  for  starting,  from  it.  But 
scarcely  had  he  brought  his  eyes  to  bear,  when  they  met 
Harry's,  peering  dolefully  up  from  under  his  eyebrows, 
on  which  the  water  was  standing  unwiped,  while  a  piece 
of  green  weed,  which  he  did  not  seem  to  have  presence 
of  mind  enough  to  remove,  trailed  over  his  dripping  locks. 
There  was  something  in  the  sight  which  tickled  Tom's 
sense  of  humor.  He  had  been  prepared  for  sullen  black 
looks  and  fierce  words ;  instead  of  which  he  was  irresist- 
ibly reminded  of  schoolboys  caught  by  their  master  using 
a  crib,  or  in  other  like  flagrant  delict. 

Harry  lowered  his  eyes  at  once,  but  lifted  them  the 
next  moment  with  a  look  of  surprise,  as  he  heard  Tom 
burst  into  a  hearty  fit  of  laughter.  After  a  short  struggle 
to  keep  serious,  he  joined  in  it  himself. 

"By  Jove,  though,  Harry,  it's  no  laughing  matter," 
Tom  said  at  last,  getting  on  to  his  legs,  and  giving  him- 
self a  shake. 

Harry  only  replied  by  looking  most  doleful  again,  and 
picking  the  weed  out  of  his  hair,  as  he,  too,  got  up. 

"  What  in  the  world's  to  be  done  ?  " 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  Master  Tom." 

"  I'm  very  much  surprised  to  find  you  at  this  work, 
Harry." 

"  I'm  sure,  so  be  I,  to  find  you,  Master  Tom." 

Tom  was  not  prepared  for  this  line  of  rejoinder.  It 
seemed  to  be  made  with  perfect  innocence,  and  yet  it  put 
him  in  a  corner  at  once.     He  did  not  care  to  inquire  into 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  255 

the  reason  of  Harry's  surprise,  or  to  what  work  he 
alluded ;  so  he  went  off  on  another  tack. 

"  Let  us  walk  up  and  down  a  bit  to  dry  ourselves. 
Now,  Harry,  you'll  speak  to  me  openly,  man  to  man,  as 
an  old  friend  should  —  wont  you  ?  " 

"  Ay,  Master  Tom,  and  glad  to  do  it." 

"  How  long  have  you  taken  to  poaching  ?  " 

"  Since  last  Michaelmas,  when  they  turned  me  out  o' 
our  cottage,  and  tuk  away  my  bit  o'  land,  and  did  all  as 
they  could  to  break  me  down." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  Squire  Wurley  as  was  then  —  not  this  one,  but 
the  last  —  and  his  lawyer,  and  Farmer  Tester." 

"  Then  it  was  through  spite  to  them  that  you  took  to 
it?" 

"Nay,  'twarn't  altogether  spite,  tho'  I  wont  say  but 
what  I  might  ha'  thought  o'  bein'  upsides  wi'  them." 

"  What  was  it  then  besides  spite  ?  " 

"  Want  o'  work.  I  haven't  had  no  more  'n  a  matter  o' 
six  weeks'  reg'lar  work  ever  since  last  fall." 

"  How's  that  ?     Have  you  tried  for  it  ?  " 

"  Well,  Master  Tom,  I  wont  tell  a  lie  about  it.  I 
don't  see  as  I  wur  bound  to  go  round  wi'  my  cap  in  my 
hand  a  beggin'  for  a  day's  work  to  the  likes  o'  them. 
They  knowed  well  enough  as  I  wur  there,  ready  and 
willing  to  work,  and  they  knowed  as  I  wur  able  to  do  as 
good  a  day's  work  as  e'er  a  man  in  the  parish ;  and  ther's 
been  plenty  o'  work  goin',  but  they  thought  as  I  should 
starve,  and  have  to  come  and  beg  for't  from  one  or  t'other 
on  'em.  They  would  ha'  liked  to  ha'  seen  me  clean 
broke  down,  that's  wut  they  would,  and  in  the  house," 
and  he  paused  as  if  his  thoughts  were  getting  a  little  un- 
manageable. 


256  TOM   BROWN  AT   OXFORD. 

"  But  you  might  have  gone  to  look  for  work  else- 
where." 

"  I  can't  see  as  I  had  any  call  to  leave  the  place  where 
I  wur  bred  up,  Master  Tom.  That  wur  just  wut  they 
wanted.     Why  should  I  let  'em  drive  m'out  ?  " 

"  "Well,  Harry,  I'm  not  going  to  blame  you.  I  only 
want  to  know  more  about  what  has  been  happening  to 
you,  that  I  may  be  able  to  advise  and  help  you.  Did 
you  ever  try  for  work,  or  go  and  tell  your  story,  at  the 
Rectory?" 

"  Try  for  work  there  !  No,  I  never  went  arter  work 
there." 

Tom  went  on  without  noticing  the  change  in  Harry's 
tone  and  manner,  — 

"  Then  I  think  you  ought  to  have  gone.  I  know  my 
cousin,  Miss  "Winter,  is  so  anxious  to  help  any  man  out 
of  work,  and  particularly  you  ;  for  — "  The  whole  story 
of  Patty  flashed  into  his  mind,  and  made  him  stop  short, 
and  stammer,  and  look  anywhere  except  at  Harry.  How 
he  could  have  forgotten  it  for  a  moment  in  that  company 
was  the  wonder.  All  his  questioning  and  patronizing 
powers  went  out  of  him,  and  he  felt  that  their  positions 
were  changed,  and  that  he  was  the  culprit.  It  was  clear 
that  Harry  knew  nothing  yet  of  his  own  relations  with 
Patty.  Did  he  even  suspect  them  ?  It  must  all  come 
out  now  at  any  rate,  for  both  their  sakes,  however  it 
might  end.  So  he  turned  again,  and  met  Harry's  eye, 
which  was  now  cold  and  keen,  and  suspicious. 

"  You  knows  all  about  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  know  that  you  have  been  attached  to  Simon's 
daughter  for  a  long  time,  and  that  he  is  against  it.  I 
wish  I  could  help  you  with  all  my  heart.  In  fact,  I  did 
feel  my  way  towards  speaking  to  him  about  it  last  year, 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  257 

when  I  was  in  hopes  of  getting  you  the  gardener's  place 
there.     But  I  could  see  that  I  should  do  no  good." 

"  I've  heard  say  as  you  was  acquainted  with  her  when 
she  was  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  was,  when  she  was  with  her  aunt  in  Oxford. 
What  then?" 

"  'Twas  there  as  she  larnt  her  bad  ways." 

"  Bad  ways !     What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  means  as  she  larnt  to  dress  fine,  and  to  gee  herself 
airs  to  them  as  she'd  known  from  a  child,  and  as'd  ha' 
gone  through  fire  to  please  her." 

"  I  never  saw  any  thing  of  the  kind  in  her.  She  was 
a  pleasant,  lively  girl,  and  dressed  neatly,  but  never 
above  her  station.  And  I'm  sure  she  has  too  good  a 
heart  to  hurt  an  old  friend." 

"  Wut  made  her  keep  shut  up  in  the  house  when  she 
cum  back  ?  ah,  for  weeks  and  weeks  ;  —  and  arter  that, 
wut  made  her  so  flighty  and  fickle  ?  carry  in'  of  herself  as 
proud  as  a  lady,  a  mincin'  and  a  trapesin'  along,  wi'  all 
the  young  farmers  a  follerin'  hex*,  like  a  fine  gentleman's 
miss  ?  " 

"  Come,  Harry,  I  wont  listen  to  that.  You  don't  be- 
lieve what  you're  saying,  you  know  her  better." 

"  You  knows  her  well  enough  by  all  seemin'." 

"  I  know  her  too  well  to  believe  any  harm  of  her." 

"  What  call  have  you  and  the  likes  o'  you  wi'  her  ? 
'Tis  no  good  comes  o'  such  company  keepin'." 

"  I  tell  you  again,  no  harm  has  come  of  it  to  her." 

"  Whose  hair  does  she  carry  about  then  in  that  gold 
thing  as  she  hangs  round  her  neck  ?  " 

Tom  blushed  scarlet,  and  lowered  his  eyes  without  an- 
swering. 

"  Dost  know  ?  'Tis  thine,  by  — ."  The  words  came 
hissing  out  between  his  set  teeth.  Tom  put  his  hands 
22* 


258  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

behind  him,  expecting  to  be  struck,  as  he  lifted  his  eyes, 
and  said,  — 

"  Yes,  it  is  mine ;  and  I  tell  you  again,  no  harm  has 
come  of  it." 

"  'Tis  a  lie.  I  knowed  how  'twas,  and  'tis  thou  hast 
done  it." 

Tom's  blood  tingled  in  his  veins  and  wild  words 
rushed  to  his  tongue,  as  he  stood  opposite  the  man 
who  had  just  given  him  the  lie,  and  who  waited  his 
reply  with  clenched  hands  and  laboring  breast  and  fierce 
eye.  But  the  discipline  of  the  last  year  stood  him  in 
good  stead.  He  stood  for  a  moment  or  two  crushing 
his  hands  together  behind  his  back,  drew  a  long  breath, 
and  answered, — 

"  Will  you  believe  my  oath,  then  ?  I  stood  by  your  side 
at  your  mother's  grave.  A  man  who  did  that  wont  lie  to 
you,  Harry.  I  swear  to  you  there's  no  wrong  between 
me  and  her.  There  never  was  fault  on  her  side.  I 
sought  her.  She  never  cared  for  me  ;  she  doesn't  care 
for  me.  As  for  that  locket,  I  forced  it  on  her.  I  own  I 
have  wronged  her,  and  wronged  you.  I  have  repented 
it  bitterly.  I  ask  your  forgiveness,  Harry  ;  for  the  sake 
of  old  times,  for  the  sake  of  your  mother  ! "  He  spoke 
from  the  heart,  and  saw  that  his  words  went  home. 
"  Come,  Harry,"  he  went  on,  "you  wont  turn  from  an 
old  playfellow,  who  owns  the  wrong  he  has  done,  and 
will  do  all  he  can  to  make  up  for  it.  You'll  shake  hands, 
and  say  you  forgive  me." 

Tom  paused,  and  held  out  his  hand. 

The  poacher's  face  worked  violently  for  a  moment  or 
two,  and  he  seemed  to  struggle  once  or  twice  to  get  his 
hand  out  in  vain.  At  last  he  struck  it  suddenly  into 
Tom's,  turning  his  head  away  at  the    same  time.     "  'Tis 


TOM    BllOWN    AT    OXFORD.  259 

what  mother  would  ha'  done,"  he  said,  "  thou  cassn't  say 
more.     There  'tis  then,  though  I  never  thought  to  do't." 

The  curious  and  unexpected  explanation  brought  thus 
to  a  happy  issue,  put  Tom  into  high  spirits,  and  at  once 
roused  the  castle-building  power  within  him,  which  was 
always  ready  enough  to  wake  up. 

His  first  care  was  to  persuade  Harry  that  he  had  bet- 
ter give  up  poaching,  and  in  this  he  had  much  less  diffi- 
culty than  he  expected.  Harry  owned  himself  sick  of 
the  life  he  was  leading  already.  He  admitted  that  some 
of  the  men  with  whom  he  had  been  associating  more  or 
less  for  the  last  year  were  the  greatest  blackguards  in 
the  neighborhood.  He  asked  nothing  better  than  to  get 
out  of  it.     But  how  ? 

This  was  all  Tom  wanted.  He  could  see  to  that ;  noth- 
ing could  be  easier. 

"  I  shall  go  with  you  back  to  Englebourn  this  morning. 
I'll  just  leave  a  note  for  Wurley  to  say  that  I'll  be  back 
some  time  in  the  day  to  explain  matters  to  him,  and  then 
we  will  be  off  at  once.  We  shall  be  at  the  Rectory  by 
breakfast-time.  Ah,  I  forgot;  —  well,  you  can  stop  at 
David's  while  I  go  and  speak  to  my  uncle  and  to  Miss 
Winter." 

Harry  didn't  seem  to  see  what  would  be  the  good  of 
this  ;  and  David,  he  said,  was  not  so  friendly  to  him  as  he 
had  been. 

"  Then  you  must  wait  at  the  Red  Lion.  Don't  see  the 
good  of  it !  Why,  of  course,  the  good  of  it  is  that  you 
must  be  set  right  with  the  Englebourn  people —  that's  the 
first  thing  to  do.  I  shall  explain  how  the  case  stands  to 
my  uncle,  and  I  know  I  can  get  him  to  let  you  have  your 
land  again  if  you  stay  in  the  parish,  even  if  he  can't  give 
you  work  himself.  But  what  he  must  do  is,  to  take  you 
up,  to  show  people  that  he   is  your  friend,  Harry.     Well 


260  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

then,  if  you  can  get  good  work  —  mind  it  must  be  real, 
good,  regular  work  —  at  Farmer  Grove's,  or  one  of  the 
best  fanners,  stop  here  by  all  means,  and  I  will  take  my- 
self the  first  cottage  which  falls  vacant  and  let  you  have 
it,  and  meantime  you  must  lodge  with  old  David.  Oh, 
I'll  go  and  talk  him  round,  never  fear.  But  if  you  can't 
get  regular  work  here,  why  you  go  off  with  flying  colors  ; 
no  sneaking  off  under  a  cloud  and  leaving  no  address. 
You'll  go  off  with  me,  as  my  servant,  if  you  like.  But 
just  as  you  please  about  that.  At  any  rate,  you'll  go  with 
me,  and  I'll  take  care  that  it  shall  be  known  that  I  con- 
sider you  as  an  old  friend.  My  father  has  always  got 
plenty  of  work  and  will  take  you  on.  And  then,  Harry, 
after  a  bit  you  may  be  sure  all  will  go  right,  and  I  shall 
be  your  best  man,  and  dance  at  your  wedding  before  a 
year's  out." 

There  is  something  in  this  kind  of  thing  which  is  con- 
tagious and  irresistible.  Tom  thoroughly  believed  all  that 
he  was  saying ;  and  faith,  even  of  such  a  poor  kind  as  be- 
lieving in  one's  own  castles,  has  its  reward.  Common 
sense  in  vain  suggested  to  Harry  that  all  the  clouds  which 
had  been  gathering  round  him  for  a  year  were  not  likely 
to  melt  away  in  a  morning.  Prudence  suggested  that  the 
sooner  he  got  away  the  better  ;  which  suggestion,  indeed, 
he  handed  on  for  what  it  was  worth.  But  Tom  treated 
prudence  with  sublime  contempt.  They  would  go  to- 
gether, he  said,  as  soon  as  any  one  was  up  at  the  house, 
just  to  let  him  in  to  change  his  things  and  write  a  note. 
Harry  needn't  fear  any  unpleasant  consequences.  Wur- 
ley  wasn't  an  ill-natured  fellow  at  bottom,  and  wouldn't 
mind  a  few  fish.  Talking  of  fish,  where  was  the  one  he 
had  heard  kicking  just  now  as  Harry  hauled  in  the  line  ? 
They  went  to  the  place,  and,  looking  in  the  long  grass, 
soon  found  the  dead  trout,  still  on  the  night  line,  of  which 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  261 

the  other  end  remained  in  the  water.  Tom  seized  hold 
of  it,  and  pulling  it  carefully  in,  landed  another  fine  trout, 
while  Harry  stood  by,  looking  rather  sheepish.  Tom  in- 
spected the  method  of  the  lines,  which  was  simple  but 
awfully  destructive.  The  line  was  long  enough  to  reach 
across  the  stream.  At  one  end  was  a  heavy  stone,  at  the 
other  a  short  stake  cut  sharp,  and  driven  into  the  bank 
well  under  the  water.  At  intervals  of  four  feet  along  the 
line  short  pieces  of  fine  gimp  were  fastened,  ending  in 
hooks  baited  alternately  with  lobworms  and  gudgeon. 
Tom  complimented  his  companion  on  the  killing  nature 
of  his  cross-line. 

"  Where  are  your  other  lines,  Harry  ?  "  he  asked  ;  "  we 
may  as  well  go  and  take  them  up." 

"  A  bit  higher  up  stream,  Master  Tom  ; "  and  so  they 
walked  up  stream  and  took  up  the  other  lines. 

"  They'll  have  the  finest  dish  of  fish  they've  seen  this 
long  time  at  the  house  to-day,"  said  Tom,  as  each  line 
came  out  with  two  or  three  fine  thick-shouldered  fish  on 
it;  "I'll  tell  you  what,  Harry,  they're  deuced  well  set, 
these  lines  of  yours,  and  do  you  credit.  They  do ;  I'm 
not  complimenting  you." 

"  I  should  rather  like  to  be  off,  Master  Tom,  if  you 
don't  object.  The  mornin's  gettin'  on,  and  the  men'll  be 
about.     'T would  be  unked  for  I  to  be  caught." 

u  Well,  Harry,  if  you're  so  set  on  it  off  with  you, 
but—" 

"  'Tis  too  late  now  ;  here's  keper." 

Tom  turned  sharp  round,  and,  sure  enough,  there  was 
the  keeper  coming  down  the  bank  towards  them,  and  not 
a  couple  of  hundred  yards  off. 

"  So  it  is,"  said  Tom ;  "  well,  only  hold  your  tongue, 
and  do  just  what  I  tell  you." 

The  keeper  came  up  quickly,  and  touching  his  hat  to 


2G2  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

Tom,  looked  inquiringly  at  him,  and  then  at  Harry.  Tom 
nodded  to  him,  as  if  every  thing  were  just  as  it  should  be. 
He  was  taking  a  two-pound  fish  off  the  last  line  ;  having 
finished  which  feat,  he  threw  it  on  the  ground  by  the 
rest.  "  There,  keeper,"  he  said,  "  there's  a  fine  dish  of 
fish.     Now  pick  'em  up  and  come  along." 

Never  was  keeper  more  puzzled.  He  looked  from  one 
to  the  other,  lifting  the  little  short  hat  from  the  back  of 
his  head,  and  scratching  that  somewhat  thick  skull  of  his, 
as  his  habit  was  when  engaged  in  what  he  called  think- 
ing, conscious  that  somebody  ought  to  be  tackled,  and  that 
he,  the  keeper,  was  being  mystified,  but  quite  at  sea  as  to 
how  he  was  to  set  himself  straight. 

"  Wet,  bain't  'ee,  sir  ?  "  he  said  at  last,  nodding  at  Tom's 
clothes. 

"  Dampish,  keeper,"  answered  Tom  ;  "  I  may  as  well 
go  and  change,  the  servants  will  be  up  at  the  house  by 
this  time.  Pick  up  the  fish  and  come  along.  You  do  up 
the  lines,  Harry." 

The  keeper  and  Harry  performed  their  tasks,  looking  at 
one  another  out  of  the  corners  of  their  eyes,  like  the  ter- 
riers of  rival  butchers  when  the  carts  happen  to  stop  sud- 
denly in  the  street  close  to  one  another.  Tom  watched 
them,  mischievously  delighted  with  the  fun,  and  then  led 
the  way  up  to  the  house.  When  they  came  to  the  stable- 
yard  he  turned  to  Harry,  and  said,  "  Stop  here ;  I  sha'n't 
be  ten  minutes ; "  adding  in  an  undertone,  "  Hold  your 
tongue  now  ; "  and  then  vanished  through  the  back-door, 
and,  hurrying  up  to  his  room,  changed  as  quickly  as  he 
could. 

He  was  within  the  ten  minutes,  but  as  he  descended 
the  back  stairs  in  his  dry  things,  became  aware  that  his 
stay  had  been  too  long.  Noise  and  laughter  came  up 
from    the   stable-yard,   and   shouts    of    "  Go   it   keper," 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  263 

u  Keper's  down,"  "  No  lie  bain't,"  greeted  his  astonished 
ears.  He  sprang  down  the  last  steps  and  rushed  into  the 
stable-yard,  where  he  found  Harry  at  his  second  wrestling 
match  for  the  day,  while  two  or  three  stablemen,  and  a 
footman,  and  the  gardener,  looked  on  and  cheered  the 
combatants  with  the  remarks  he  had  heard  on  his  way 
down. 

Tom  made  straight  to  them,  and  tapping  Harry  on  the 
shoulder,  said, — 

"  Now  then,  come  along  ;    I'm  ready." 

Whereupon  the  keeper  and  Harry  disengaged,  and  the 
latter  picked  up  his  cap. 

"  You  bain't  goin',  sir  ?  "  said  the  keeper. 

"  Yes,  keeper." 

"  Not  along  wi'  he  ?  " 

"  Yes,  keeper." 

"  What,  bain't  I  to  take  un  ?  " 

"  Take  him  !     No,  what  for  ?  " 

"  For  night  poachin',  look  at  all  them  fish,"  said  the 
keeper  indignantly,  pointing  to  the  shining  heap. 

"  No,  no,  keeper  ;  you've  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
may  give  him  the  lines  though,  Harry.  I've  left  a  note 
for  your  master  on  my  dressing-table,"  Tom  said,  turning 
to  the  footman,  "  let  him  have  it  at  breakfast.  I'm  re- 
sponsible for  him,"  nodding  at  Harry.  "  I  shall  be  back 
in  a  few  hours,  and  now  come  along." 

And,  to  the  keeper's  astonishment,  Tom  left  the  stable- 
yard,  accompanied  by  Harry. 

They  were  scarcely  out  of  hearing  before  the  stable- 
yard  broke  out  into  uproarious  laughter  at  the  keeper's 
expense,  and  much  rude  banter  was  inflicted  on  him  for 
letting  the  poacher  go.  But  the  keeper's  mind  for  the 
moment  was  full  of  other  things.     Disregarding  their  re- 


2G4  TOM   BUOWN    AT    OXFORD. 

marks,  he  went  on  scratching  his  head,  and  burst  out  at 
last  with,  — 

"  Dang  un ;  I  knows  I  should  ha'  drowed  un." 

"  Drovv  your  grandmother,"  politely  remarked  one  of 
the  stablemen,  an  acquaintance  of  Harry  Winburn,  who 
knew  his  repute  as  a  wrestler. 

"  I  should,  I  tell  'ee,"  said  the  keeper,  as  he  stooped  to 
gather  up  the  fish  ;  "  and  to  think  as  he  should  ha'  gone 
off.  Master'll  be  like  any  wild  beast  when  he  hears  on't. 
Ilows'mever,  'tis  Mr.  Brown's  doin's.  'Tis  a  queer  start 
for  a  gen'l'man  like  he  to  be  goin'  off  wi'  a  poacher  chap, 
and  callin'  of  un  Harry.  'Tis  past  me  altogether.  But 
I  s'pose  he  baint  right  in's  'ead  ; "  and,  so  soliloquizing, 
he  carried  off  the  fish  to  the  kitchen. 

Meantime,  on  their  walk  to  Englebourn,  Harry,  in  an- 
swer to  Tom's  inquiries,  explained  that  in  his  absence  the 
stableman,  his  acquaintance,  had  come  up  and  begun  to 
talk.  The  keeper  had  joined  in  and  accused  him  point- 
blank  of  being  the  man  who  had  thrown  him  into  the 
furze  bush.  The  story  of  the  keeper's  discomfiture  on 
that  occasion  being  well  known,  a  laugh  had  been  raised 
in  which  Harry  had  joined.  This  brought  on  a  challenge 
to  try  a  fall  then  and  there,  which  Harry  had  accepted, 
notwithstanding  his  long  morning's  work  and  the  ducking 
he  had  had.  They  laughed  over  the  story,  though  Harry 
could  not  help  expressing  his  fears  as  to  how  it  might  all 
end.  They  reached  Englebourn  in  time  for  breakfast. 
Tom  appeared  at  the  Rectory,  and  soon  he  and  Katie 
were  on  their  old  terms.  She  was  delighted  to  find  that 
he  had  had  an  explanation  with  Harry  Winburn,  and 
that  there  was  some  chance  of  bringing  that  sturdy  of- 
fender once  more  back  into  decent  ways  ;- —  more  de- 
lighted perhaps  to  hear  the  way  in  which  he  spoke  of 


T03I    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  2G5 

Patty,  to  whom  after  breakfast  she  paid  a  visit,  and  re- 
turned in  due  time  with  the  unfortunate  locket. 

Tom  felt  as  if  another  coil  of  the  chain  he  had  tied 
about  himself  had  fallen  off.  He  went  out  into  the  vil- 
lage, consulted  again  with  Harry,  and  returned  to  the 
Rectory  to  consider  what  steps  were  to  be  taken  to  get 
him  work.  Katie  entered  into  the  matter  heartily, 
though  foreseeing  the  difficulties  of  the  case.  At  lun- 
cheon the  rector  was  to  be  sounded  on  the  subject  of  the 
allotments.  But  in  the  middle  of  their  plans  they  were 
startled  by  the  news  that  a  magistrate's  warrant  had  ar- 
rived in  the  village  for  the  arrest  of  Harry  as  a  night 
poacher. 

Tom  returned  to  the  Grange  furious,  and  before  night 
luul  had  a  worse  quarrel  with  young  "Wurley  than  with 
his  uncle  before  him.  Had  duelling  been  in  fashion  still 
in  England  they  would  probably  have  fought  in  a  quiet 
corner  of  the  park  before  night.  As  it  was  they  only 
said  bitter  things,  and  parted,  agreeing  not  to  know  one 
another  in  future. 

Three  days  afterwards,  at  petty  sessions,  where  Tom 
brought  upon  himself  the  severe  censure  of  the  bench  for 
his  conduct  on  the  trial,  Harry  Winburn  was  committed 
to  Reading  gaol  for  three  months. 

Readers  who  will  take  the  trouble  to  remember  the 
picture  of  our  hero's  mental  growth  during  the  past  year, 
attempted  to  be  given  in  a  late  chapter,  and  the  state  of 
restless  dissatisfaction  into  which  his  experiences  and 
thoughts  and  readings  had  thrown  him  by  the  time  long 
vacation  had  come  round  again,  will  perhaps  be  prepared 
for  the  catastrophe  which  ensued  on  the  conviction  and 
sentence  of  Harry  "Winburn  at  petty  sessions. 

Hitherto,  notwithstanding  the  strength  of  the  new  and 
revolutionary  forces  which  were  mustering  round  it,  there 
23 


266  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

had  always  been  a  citadel  holding  out  in  his  mind,  gar- 
risoned by  all  that  was  best  in  the  Toryism  in  which  ho 
had  been  brought  up  —  by  loyalty,  reverence  for  estab- 
lished order  and  established  institutions ;  by  family  tra- 
ditions, and  the  pride  of  an  inherited  good  name.  But 
now  the  walls  of  that  citadel  went  down  with  a  crash,  the 
garrison  being  put  to  the  sword,  or  making  a  way  to  hide 
in  out-of-the-way  corners,  and  wait  for  a  reaction. 

It  was  much  easier  for  a  youngster,  whose  attention 
was  once  turned  to  such  subjects  as  had  been  occupying 
Tom,  to  get  hold  of  wild  and  violent  beliefs  and  notions 
in  those  days  than  now.  The  state  of  Europe  generally 
was  far  more  dead  and  hopeless.  There  were  no  wars, 
certainly,  and  no  expectations  of  wars.  But  there  was  a 
dull,  beaten-down,  pent-up  feeling  abroad,  as  if  the  lid 
were  screwed  down  on  the  nations,  and  the  thing  which 
had  been,  however  cruel  and  heavy  and  mean,  was  that 
which  was  to  remain  to  the  end.  England  was  better  off 
than  her  neighbors,  but  yet  in  bad  case.  In  the  south 
and  west  particularly,  several  causes  had  combined  to 
spread  a  very  bitter  feeling  abroad  amongst  the  agricul- 
tural poor.  First  amongst  these  stood  the  new  poor  law, 
the  provisions  of  which  were  rigorously  carried  out  in 
most  districts.  The  poor  had  as  yet  felt  the  harshness 
only  of  the  new  system.  Then  the  land  was  in  many 
places  in  the  hands  of  men  on  their  last  legs,  the  old 
sporting  farmers,  who  had  begun  business  as  young  men 
while  the  great  war  was  going  on,  had  made  money  hand 
over  hand  for  a  few  years  out  of  the  war  prices,  and  had 
tried  to  go  on  living  with  greyhounds  and  yeomanry  uni- 
forms —  horse  to  ride  and  weapon  to  wear  —  through  the 
hard  years  which  had  followed.  These  were  bad  masters 
in  every  way,  unthrifty,  profligate,  needy,  and  narrow- 
minded.     The  younger  men  who  were  supplanting  them 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  267 

were  introducing  machinery,  threshing-machines,  and 
winnowing-machines,  to  take  the  little  bread  which  a  poor 
man  was  still  able  to  earn  out  of  the  mouths  of  his  wife 
and  children  —  so  at  least  the  poor  thought  and  muttered 
to  one  another ;  and  the  mutterings  broke  out  every  now 
and  then  in  the  long  nights  of  the  winter  months  in  blaz- 
ing ricks  and  broken  machines.  Game  preserving  was 
on  the  increase.  Australia  and  America  had  not  yet  be- 
come familiar  words  in  every  English  village,  and  the 
labor  market  was  everywhere  overstocked  ;  and  last,  but 
not  least,  the  corn  laws  were  still  in  force,  and  the  bittei 
and  exasperating  strife  in  which  they  went  out  was  at  its 
height.  And  while  Swing  and  his  myrmidons  were 
abroad  in  the  counties,  and  could  scarcely  be  kept  down 
by  yeomanry  and  poor  law  guardians,  the  great  towns 
were  in  almost  worst  case.  Here,  too,  emigration  had  not 
yet  set  in  to  thin  the  labor  market ;  wages  were  falling, 
and  prices  rising ;  the  corn-law  struggle  was  better  un- 
derstood and  far  keener  than  in  the  country ;  and  Chart- 
ism was  gaining  force  every  day,  and  rising  into  a  huge 
threatening  giant,  waiting  to  put  forth  his  strength,  and 
eager  for  the  occasion  which  seemed  at  hand. 

You  generation  of  young  Englishmen,  who  were  too 
young  then  to  be  troubled  with  such  matters,  and  have 
grown  into  manhood  since,  you  little  know  —  may  you 
never  know  !  —  what  it  is  to  be  living  the  citizens  of  a 
divided  and  distracted  nation.  For  the  time  that  danger 
is  past.  In  a  happy  hour,  and  so  far  as  man  can  judge, 
in  time,  and  only  just  in  time,  came  the  repeal  of  the  corn 
laws,  and  the  great  cause  of  strife,  and  the  sense  of  injus- 
tice passed  away  out  of  men's  minds.  The  nation  was 
roused  by  the  Irish  famine,  and  the  fearful  distress  in 
other  parts  of  the  country,  to  begin  looking  steadily  and 
seriously  at  some  of  the  sores  which  were  festering  in  its 


268  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

body,  and  undermining  health  and  life.  And  so  the  tide 
had  turned,  and  England  had  already  passed  the  critical 
point,  when  1848  came  upon  Christendom,  and  the  whole 
of  Europe  leapt  up  into  a  wild  blaze  of  revolution. 

Is  any  one  still  inclined  to  make  light  of  the  danger 
that  threatened  England  in  that  year,  to  sneer  at  the  10th 
of  April,  and  the  monster  petition,  and  the  monster  meet- 
ings on  Kennington  and  other  commons  ?  Well,  if  there 
be  such  persons  amongst  my  readers,  I  can  only  say  that 
they  can  have  known  nothing  of  what  was  going  on 
around  them  and  below  them,  at  that  time,  and  I  ear- 
nestly hope  that  their  vision  has  become  clearer  since  then, 
and  that  they  are  not  looking  with  the  same  eyes  that  see 
nothing,  at  the  signs  of  to-day.  For  that  there  are  ques- 
tions still  to  be  solved  by  us  in  England,  in  this  current 
half-century,  quite  as  likely  to  tear  the  nation  in  pieces 
as  the  corn  laws,  no  man  with  half  an  eye  in  his  head  can 
doubt.  They  may  seem  little  clouds  like  a  man's  hand 
on  the  horizon  just  now,  but  they  will  darken  the  whole 
heaven  before  long  unless  we  can  find  wisdom  enough 
amongst  us  to  take  the  little  clouds  in  hand  in  time,  and 
make  them  descend  in  soft  rain. 

But  such  matters  need  not  be  spoken  of  here.  All  I 
want  to  do  is  to  put  my  young  readers  in  a  position  to 
understand  how  it  was  that  our  hero  fell  away  into  beliefs 
and  notions,  at  which  Mrs.  Grundy  and  all  decent  people 
could  only  lift  up  eyes  and  hands  in  pious  and  respectable 
horror,  and  became,  soon  after  the  incarceration  of  his 
friend  for  night  poaching,  little  better  than  a  physical 
force  Chartist  at  the  age  of  twenty-one.  In  which  un- 
happy condition  we  shall  now  have  to  take  a  look  or  two 
at  him  in  future  numbers. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

HUE   AND    CRT. 

At  the  end  of  a  gusty,  wild  October  afternoon  a  man 
leading  two  horses  was  marching  up  and  down  the  little 
plot  of  short  turf  at  the  top  of  the  Hawk's  Lynch.  Every 
now  and  then  he  would  stop  on  the  brow  of  the  hill  to 
look  over  the  village,  and  seemed  to  be  waiting  for  some- 
body from  that  quarter.  After  being  well  blown  he 
would  turn  to  his  promenade  again,  or  go  in  under  the 
clump  of  firs,  through  which  the  rising  south-west  wind, 
rushing  up  from  the  vale  below,  was  beginning  to  make  a 
moan;  and,  hitching  the  horses  to  some  stump  or  bush, 
and  patting  and  coaxing  them  to  induce  them,  if  so  might 
be,  to  stand  quiet  for  awhile,  would  try  to  settle  himself 
to  leeward  of  one  of  the  larger  trees. 

But  the  fates  were  against  all  attempts  at  repose.  He 
had  scarcely  time  to  produce  a  cheroot  from  his  case  and 
light  it  under  many  difficulties,  when  the  horses  would 
begin  fidgeting,  and  pulling  at  their  bridles,  and  shifting 
round  to  get  their  tails  to  the  wind.  They  clearly  did 
not  understand  the  necessity  of  the  position,  and  were  in- 
clined to  be  moving  stablewards.  So  he  had  to  get  up 
again,  sling  the  bridles  over  his  arm,  and  take  to  his 
march  up  and  down  the  plot  of  turf;  now  stopping  for  a 
moment  or  two  to  try  to  get  his  cheroot  to  burn  straight, 
and  pishing  and  pshawing  over  its  perverseness ;  now 
going  again  and  again  to  the  brow,  and  looking  along  the 
road  which  led  to  the  village,  holding  his  hat  on  tight 
23* 


270  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

with  one  hand  —  for  by  this  time  it  was  blowing  half  a 
gale  of  wind. 

Though  it  was  not  yet  quite  the  hour  for  his  setting, 
the  sun  had  disappeared  behind  a  heavy  bank  of  wicked 
slate-colored  cloud,  which  looked  as  though  it  were  rising 
straight  up  into  the  western  heavens,  while  the  wind 
whirled  along  and  twisted  into  quaint  shapes  a  ragged  rift 
of  light  vapor,  which  went  hurrying  by,  almost  touching 
the  tops  of  the  moaning  firs.  Altogether  an  uncanny 
evening  to  be  keeping  tryst  at  the  top  of  a  wild  knoll ; 
and  so  thought  our  friend  with  the  horses,  and  showed  it, 
too,  clearly  enough,  had  any  one  been  there  to  put  a  con- 
struction on  his  impatient  movements. 

There  was  no  one  nearer  than  the  village,  half  a  mile 
and  more  away ;  so,  by  way  of  passing  the  time,  we  must 
exercise  our  privilege  of  putting  into  words  what  he  is 
half  thinking,  half  muttering  to  himself, — 

"  A  pleasant  night  I  call  this,  to  be  out  on  a  wild  goose 
chase.  If  ever  I  saw  a  screaming  storm  brewing,  there 
it  comes.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  stop  up  here  to  be  caught 
in  it  for  all  the  crack-brained  friends  I  ever  had  in  the 
world ;  and  I  seem  to  have  a  faculty  for  picking  up  none 
but  cracked-brained  ones.  I  wonder  what  the  plague  can 
keep  him  so  long:  he  must  have  been  gone  an  hour. 
There  steady,  steady,  old  horse.  Confound  this  weed! 
What  rascals  tobacconists  are!  You  never  can  get  a 
cheroot  now  worth  smoking.  Every  one  of  them  goes 
spluttering  up  the  side,  or  charring  up  the  middle,  and 
tasting  like  tow  soaked  in  saltpetre  and  tobacco  juice. 
Well,  I  suppose  I  shall  get  the  real  thing  in  India. 

"  India  !  In  a  month  from  to-day  we  shall  be  off.  To 
hear  our  senior  major  talk,  one  might  as  well  be  going  to 
the  bottomless  pit  at  once.  Well,  he'll  sell  out,  that's  a 
comfort.     Gives  us  a  step,  and  gets  rid  of  an  old  ruffian. 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  271 

I  don't  seem  to  care  much  what  the  place  is  like  if  we 
only  get  some  work ;  and  there  will  be  some  work  there 
before  long,  by  all  accounts.  No  more  garrison  town  life, 
at  any  rate.  And  if  I  have  any  luck  —  a  man  may  get  a 
chance  there. 

"  What  the  deuce  can  he  be  about  ?  This  all  comes 
of  sentiment,  now.  Why  couldn't  I  go  quietly  off  to 
India  without  bothering  up  to  Oxford  to  see  him  ?  Not 
but  what  it's  a  pleasant  place  enough.  I've  enjoyed  my 
three  days  there  uncommonly.  Food  and  drink  all  that 
can  be  wished,  and  plenty  of  good  fellows  and  good  fun. 
The  look  of  the  place,  too,  makes  one  feel  respectable. 
But,  by  George,  if  their  divinity  is  at  all  like  their 
politics,  they  must  turn  out  a  queer  set  of  parsons  —  at 
least,  if  Brown  picked  up  his  precious  notions  at  Oxford, 
lie  always  was  a  headstrong  beggar.  What  was  it  he 
was  holding  forth  about  last  night  ?  Let's  see.  '  The 
sacred  right  of  insurrection.'  Yes,  that  was  it,  and  he 
talked  as  if  he  believed  it  all  too ;  and,  if  there  should  be 
a  row,  which  don't  seem  unlikely,  by  Jove  I  think  he'd 
act  on  it  in  the  sort  of  temper  he's  in.  How  about  the 
sacred  right  of  getting  hung  or  transported  ?  I  shouldn't 
wonder  to  hear  of  that  some  day.  Gad !  suppose  he 
should  be  in  for  an  instalment  of  his  sacred  right  to-night. 
He's  capable  of  it,  and  of  lugging  me  in  with  him.  What 
did  he  say  we  were  come  here  for  ?  To  get  some  fellow 
out  of  a  scrape,  he  said  —  some  sort  of  poaching  radical 
foster-brother  of  his,  who  had  been  in  gaol,  and  deserved 
it,  too,  I'll  be  bound.  And  we  couldn't  go  down  quietly 
into  the  village  and  put  up  at  the  public,  where  I  might 
have  sat  in  the  tap,  and  not  run  the  chance  of  having  my 
skin  blown  over  my  ears,  and  my  teeth  down  my  throat, 
on  this  cursed  look-out  place,  because  he's  too  well  known 
there.     What  does  that  mean  ?     Upon  my  soul  it  looks 


272  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

bad.  They  may  be  lynching  a  J.  P.  down  there,  or 
making  a  spread  eagle  of  the  parish-constable  at  this 
minute,  for  any  thing  I  know,  and  as  sure  as  fate  if  they 
are  I  shall  get  my  foot  in  it. 

"It  will  read  sweetly  in  the  Army  News:  'A  court- 
martial  was  held  this  day  at  Chatham,  president,  Colonel 
Smith,  of  Her  Majesty's  101st  Regiment,  to  try  Henry 
East,  a  lieutenant  in  the  same  distinguished  corps,  who 
has  been  under  arrest  since  the  10th  ult.,  for  aiding  and 
abetting  the  escape  of  a  convict,  and  taking  part  in  a  riot 
in  the  village  of  Englebourn,  in  the  county  of  Berks. 
The  defence  of  the  accused  was  that  he  had  a  sentimental 
friendship  for  a  certain  Thomas  Brown,  an  undergraduate 
of  St.  Ambrose  College,  Oxford,  etc.,  etc. ;  and  the  sen- 
tence of  the  court  — ' 

"  Hang  it !  It's  no  laughing  matter.  Many  a  fellow 
has  been  broken  for  not  making  half  such  a  fool  of  him- 
self as  I  have  done,  coming  out  here  on  this  errand.  I'll 
tell  T.  B.  a  bit  of  my  mind  as  sure  as — 

"  Hullo  !  didn't  I  hear  a  shout  ?  Only  the  wind,  I  be- 
lieve. How  it  does  blow !  One  of  these  firs  will  be 
down,  I  expect,  just  now.  The  storm  will  burst  in  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  Here  goes !  I  shall  ride  down  into 
the  village,  let  what  will  come  of  it.  Steady  now,  steady. 
Stand  still,  you  old  fool ;  can't  you  ? 

"  There,  now  I'm  all  right.  Solomon  said  something 
about  a  beggar  on  horseback.  Was  it  Solomon,  though  ? 
Never  mind.  He  couldn't  ride.  Never  had  a  horse  till 
he  was  grown  up.  But  he  said  some  uncommon  wise 
things  about  having  nothing  to  do  with  such  friends  as 
T.  B.  So,  Harry  East,  if  you  please,  no  more  tomfoolery 
after  to-day.  You've  got  a  whole  skin,  and  a  lieutenant's 
commission  to  make  your  way  in  the  world  with,  and  are 
troubled  with  no  particular  crotchets  yourself  that  need 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  273 

ever  get  you  into  trouble.  So  just  you  keep  clear  of  other 
people's.  And  if  your  friends  must  be  mending  the  world, 
and  poor  man's  plastering,  and  running  their  heads  against 
stone  walls,  why,  just  you  let  go  of  their  coat  tails." 

So  muttering  and  meditating,  Harry  East  paused  a  mo- 
ment after  mounting,  to  turn  up  the  collar  of  the  rough 
shooting  coat  which  he  was  wearing,  and  button  it  up  to 
the  chin,  before  riding  down  the  hill,  when,  in  the  hurly- 
burly  of  the  wind,  a  shout  came  spinning  past  his  ears, 
plain  enough  this  time  ;  he  heard  the  gate  at  the  end  of 
Englebourn  Lane  down  below  him  shut  with  a  clang,  and 
saw  two  men  running  at  full  speed  towards  him,  straight 
up  the  hill. 

"  Oh !  here  you  are  at  last,"  he  said,  as  he  watched 
them.  "  Well,  you  don't  lose  your  time  now.  Somebody 
must  be  after  them.  What's  he  shouting  and  waving  his 
hand  for?  I'm  to  bring  the  cavalry  supports  down  the 
slope,  I  suppose.  Well,  here  goes :  he  has  brought  off  his 
pal  the  convict,  I  see  — 

" '  Says  he,  you've  'scaped  from  transportation 
All  upon  the  briny  main, 
So  never  give  way  to  no  temptation, 
And  don't  get  drunk  nor  prig  again  ! ' 

There  goes  the  gate  again.  By  Jove,  what's  that  ?  Dra- 
goons, as  I'm  a  sinner !     There's  going  to  be  the  d st 

bear-fight." 

Saying  which,  Harry  East  dug  his  heels  into  his  horse's 
sides,  holding  him  up  sharply  with  the  curb  at  the  same 
time,  and  in  another  moment  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  sol- 
itary mound  on  which  he  had  been  perched  for  the  last 
hour,  and  on  the  brow  of  the  line  of  hill  out  of  which  it 
rose  so  abruptly,  just  at  the  point  for  which  the  two  run- 
ners were  making.     He   had   only  time   to  glance  at  the 


274  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

pursuers,  and  saw  that  one  or  two  rode  straight  on  the 
track  of  the  fugitives,  while  the  rest  skirted  away  along  a 
parish  road  which  led  up  the  hill-side  by  an  easier  ascent, 
when  Tom  and  his  companion  were  by  his  side.  Torn 
seized  the  bridle  of  the  led  horse,  and  was  in  the  saddle 
with  one  spring. 

"  Jump  up  behind,"  he  shouted ;  "  now  then  come  along." 

"Who  are  they?"  roared  East  —  in  that  wind  nothing 
but  a  shout  could  be  heard  —  pointing  over  his  shoulder 
with  his  thumb  as  they  turned  to  the  heath. 

"  Yeomanry  1" 

"After  you?" 

Tom  nodded,  as  they  broke  into  a  gallop,  making 
straight  across  the  heath  towards  the  Oxford  road.  They 
were  some  quarter  of  a  mile  in  advance  before  any  of 
their  pursuers  showed  over  the  brow  of  the  hill  behind 
them.  It  was  already  getting  dusk,  and  the  great  bank 
of  cloud  was  by  this  time  all  but  upon  them,  making  the 
atmosphere  denser  and  darker  every  second.  Then,  first 
one  of  the  men  appeared  who  had  ridden  straight  up  the 
hill  under  the  Hawk's  Lynch,  and,  pulling  up  for  a  mo- 
ment, caught  sight  of  them  and  gave  chase.  Half  a  min- 
ute later,  and  several  of  those  who  had  kept  to  the  road 
were  also  in  sight,  some  distance  away  on  the  left,  but 
still  near  enough  to  be  unpleasant ;  and  they,  too,  after  a 
moment's  pause,  were  in  full  pursuit.  At  first  the  fugi- 
tives held  their  own,  and  the  distance  between  them  and 
their  pursuers  was  not  lessened,  but  it  was  clear  that  this 
could  not  last.  Any  thing  that  horseflesh  is  capable  of, 
a  real  good  Oxford  hack,  such  as  they  rode,  will  do ;  but 
to  carry  two  full-grown  men  at  the  end  of  a  pretty  long 
day,  away  from  fresh  horses  and  moderate  weights,  is  too 
much  to  expect  even  of  Oxford  horse-flesh ;  and  the  gal- 
lant beast  which  Tom   rode  was   becrinninsr  to  show  signs 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD  275 

of  distress  when  they  struck  into  the  road.  There  was  a 
slight  dip  in  the  ground  at  this  place,  and  a  little  further 
on  the  heath  rose  suddenly  again,  and  the  road  ran  be- 
tween high  banks  for  a  short  distance. 

As  they  reached  this  point  they  disappeared  for  the 
moment  from  the  yeomanry,  and  the  force  of  the  wind 
was  broken  by  the  banks,  so  that  they  could  breath  more 
easily,  and  hear  one  another's  voices. 

Tom  looked  anxiously  round  at  the  lieutenant,  who 
shrugged  his  shoulders  in  answer  to  the  look,  as  he  bent 
forward  to  ease  his  own  horse,  and  said,  — 

"  Can't  last  another  mile." 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  " 

East  again  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  said  nothing. 

"  I  know,  Master  Tom,"  said  Harry  Winburn. 

"  What  ?  " 

"  Pull  up  a  bit,  sir." 

Tom  pulled  up,  and  his  horse  fell  into  a  walk  will- 
ingly enough,  while  East  passed  on  a  few  strides  ahead. 
Harry  Winburn  sprang  off. 

"  You  ride  on,  now,  Master  Tom,"  he  said,  "  I  knows 
the  heath  well ;  you  let  me  bide." 

"  No,  no,  Harry,  not  I.  I  wont  leave  you  now  ;  so  let 
them  come,  and  be  hanged." 

East  had  pulled  up,  and  listened  to  their  talk. 

"  Look  here,  now,"  he  said  to  Harry  ;  "  put  your  arm 
over  the  hind  part  of  his  saddle,  and  run  by  the  side ; 
you'll  find  you  can  go  as  fast  as  the  horse.  Now,  you  two 
push  on,  and  strike  across  the  heath.  I'll  keep  the  road, 
and  take  off  this  joker  behind,  who  is  the  only  dangerous 
customer." 

"  That's  like  you,  old  boy,"  said  Tom,  "  then  we'll  meet 
at  the  first  public  beyond  the  heath  ? "  and  they  passed 


276  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

ahead  in  their  turn,  and  turned  on  to  the  heath,  Harry 
running  by  the  side,  as  the  lieutenant  had  advised. 

East  looked  after  them,  and  then  put  his  horse  into  a 
steady  trot,  muttering,  — 

"  Like  me !  yes,  devilish  like  me :  I  know  that  well 
enough.  Didn't  I  always  play  cat's-paw  to  his  monkey  at 
school  ?  but  that  convict  don't  seem  such  a  bad  lot,  after 
all." 

Meantime  Tom  and  Harry  struck  away  over  the  heath, 
as  the  darkness  closed  in,  and  the  storm  drove  down. 
They  stumbled  on  over  the  charred  furze  roots,  and 
splashed  through  the  sloppy  peat  cuttings,  casting  anxious, 
hasty  looks  over  their  shoulders  as  they  fled,  straining 
every  nerve  to  get  on,  and  longing  for  night  and  the 
storm. 

"  Hark,  wasn't  that  a  pistol-shot  ?  "  said  Tom,  as  they 
floundered  on.  The  sound  came  from  the  road  they  had 
left. 

"  Look !  here's  some  on  'em,  then,"  said  Harry ;  and 
Tom  was  aware  of  two  horsemen  coming  over  the  brow 
of  the  hill  on  their  left,  some  three  hundred  yards  to  the 
rear.  At  the  same  instant  his  horse  stumbled,  and  came 
down  on  his  nose  and  knees.  Tom  went  off  over  his 
shoulder,  tumbling  against  Harry,  and  sending  him  head- 
long to  the  ground,  but  keeping  hold  of  the  bridle ;  they 
were  up  again  in  a  moment. 

"  Are  you  hurt  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  Come  along,  then,"  and  Tom  was  in  the  saddle  again, 
when  the  pursuers  raised  a  shout.  They  had  caught  sight 
of  them  now,  and  spurred  down  the  slope  towards  them. 
Tom  was  turning  his  horse's  head  straight  away,  but  Harry 
6houted,  — 

"  Keep  to  the  left,  Master  Tom,  to  the  left,  right  on." 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  277 

It  seemed  like  running  into  the  lion's  jaws,  but  he 
yielded,  and  they  pushed  on  down  the  slope  on  which 
they  were.  Another  shout  of  triumph  rose  on  the  howl- 
ing wind  ;  Tom's  heart  sank  within  him.  The  enemy  was 
closing  on  them  every  moment ;  another  hundred  yards, 
and  they  must  meet  at  the  bottom  of  the  slope.  What 
could  Harry  be  dreaming  of?  The  thought  had  scarcely 
time  to  cross  his  brain,  when  down  went  the  two  yeomen, 
horse  and  man,  floundering  in  a  bog  above  their  horses' 
girths.  At  the  same  moment  the  storm  burst  on  them, 
with  driving  mist  and  pelting  rain.  The  chase  was  over. 
They  could  not  have  seen  a  regiment  of  men  at  fifty  yards' 
distance. 

"  You  let  me  lead  the  horse,  Master  Tom,"  shouted 
Harry  Winburn ;  "  I  knowed  where  they  was  going ; 
'twill  take  they  the  best  part  o'  the  night  to  get  out  o'  that, 
I  knows." 

"  All  right,  let's  get  back  to  the  road,  then,  as  soon  as 
we  can,"  said  Tom,  surrendering  his  horse's  head  to 
Harry,  and  turning  up  his  collar  to  meet  the  pitiless 
deluge  which  was  driving  on  their  flanks.  They  were 
drenched  to  the  skin  in  two  minutes  ;  Tom  jumped  off,  and 
plodded  along  on  the  opposite  side  of  his  horse  to  Harry. 
They  did  not  speak ;  there  was  very  little  to  be  said  un- 
der the  circumstances,  and  a  great  deal  to  be  thought 
about. 

Harry  Winburn  probably  knew  the  heath  as  well  as 
any  man  living,  but  even  he  had  much  difficulty  in  find- 
ing his  way  back  to  the  road  through  that  storm.  How- 
ever, after  some  half-hour  spent  in  beating  about,  they 
reached  it,  and  turned  their  faces  northwards  towards  Ox- 
ford. By  this  time  night  had  come  on  ;  but  the  fury  of 
the  storm  had  passed  over  them,  and  the  moon  began  to 
show  every  now  and  then  through  the  driving  clouds.  At 
24 


278  TOM    BKOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

last  Tom  roused  himself  out  of  the  brown  study  in  which 
he  had  been  hitherto  plodding  along,  and  turned  down  his 
coat  collar,  and  shook  himself,  and  looked  up  at  the  sky, 
and  across  at  his  companion,  who  was  still  leading  the 
horse  along  mechanically.  It  was  too  dark  to  see  his  face, 
but  his  walk  and  general  look  was  listless  and  dogged  ; 
at  last  Tom  broke  silence. 

"  You  promised  not  to  do  any  thing,  after  you  came  out. 
without  speaking  to  me."  Harry  made  no  reply  ;  so  pres- 
ently he  went  on, — 

"  I  didn't  think  you'd  have  gone  in  for  such  a  business 
as  that  to-night.  I  shouldn't  have  minded  so  much  if  it 
had  only  been  machine-breaking ;  but  robbing  the  cellar 
and  staving  in  ale  casks  and  maiming  cattle  —  " 

"  I'd  no  hand  in  that,"  interrupted  Harry. 

"I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  You  were  certainly  leaning 
against  the  gate  when  I  came  up,  and  taking  no  part  in 
it ;  but  you  were  one  of  the  leaders  of  the  riot." 

"  He  brought  it  on  hisself,"  said  Harry,  doggedly. 

"  Tester  is  a  bad  man,  I  know  that ;  and  the  people 
have  much  to  complain  of:  but  nothing  can  justify  what 
was  done  to-night."     Harry  made  no  answer. 

"  You're  known,  and  they'll  be  after  you  the  first  fhing 
in  the  morning.     I  don't  know  what's  to  be  done." 

"  'Tis  very  little  odds  what  happens  to  me." 

"  You've  no  right  to  say  that,  Harry.   Your  frienoV — " 

"  I  hain't  got  no  friends." 

"  Well,  Harry,  I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  that  after 
what  has  happened  to-night.  I  don't  mean  to  say  that  my 
friendship  has  done  you  much  good  yet ;  but  I've  done 
what  I  could,  and  —  " 

"  So  you  hev',  Master  Tom,  so  you  hev'." 

"  And  I'll  stick  by  you  through  thick  and  thin,  Harry. 
But  you  must   take  heart  and  stick  by  yourself,  or  we 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  279 

shall  never  pull  you  through."  Harry  groaned,  and  then, 
turning  at  once  to  what  was  always  uppermost  in  his 
mind,  said, — 

"  'Tis  no  good,  now  I've  been  in  gaol.  Her  father  wur 
alius  agin  me.  And  now,  how  be  I  ever  to  hold  up  my 
head  at  whoam  ?     I  seen  her  once  arter  I  came  out." 

"  "Well,  and  what  happened  ?  "  said  Tom,  after  waiting 
a  moment  or  two. 

"  She  just  turned  red  and  pale,  and  was  all  flustered 
like,  and  made  as  though  she'd  have  held  out  her  hand : 
and  then  tuk  and  hurried  off  like  a  frighted  hai"e,  as 
though  she  heerd  somebody  a  comin'.  Ah  !  'tis  no  good  ! 
'tis  no  good  !  " 

"  I  don't  see  any  thing  very  hopeless  in  that,"  said 
Tom. 

"  I've  knowed  her  since  she  wur  that  high,"  went  on 
Harry,  holding  out  his  hand  about  as  high  as  the  bottom 
of  his  waistcoat,  without  noticing  the  interruption,  "  when 
her  and  I  went  a-gleanin'  together.  'Tis  what  I've 
thought  on,  and  lived  for,  and  'tis  four  year  since  she  and 
I  broke  a  sixpence  auver't.  And  at  times  it  sim'd  as  tho' 
'twould  all  cum  right,  when  my  poor  mother  wur  livin', — 
tho'  her  never  tuk  to  it  kindly,  mother  didn't.  But  'tis 
all  gone  now !  and  I  be  that  mad  wi'  myself,  and  mam- 
mered,  and  down,  I  be  ready  to  hang  myself,  Master 
Tom;  and  if  they  just  teks  and  transpworts  me — " 

"  Oh,  nonsense,  Harry !  You  must  keep  out  of  that. 
We  shall  think  of  some  way  to  get  you  out  of  that  before 
morning.  And  you  must  get  clear  away,  and  go  to  work 
on  the  railways  or  somewhere.  There's  nothing  to  be 
down-hearted  about  so  far  as  Patty  is  concerned." 

"  Ah !  'tis  they  as  wears  it  as  knows  where  the  shoe 
pinches.     You'd  say  different  if  'twas  you,  Master  Torn." 

"  Should  I  ?  "  said  Tom  ;  and,  after  pausing  a  moment 


280  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

or  two,  he  went  on.  "  What  I'm  going  to  say  is  in  confi- 
dence. I've  never  told  it  to  any  man  yet,  and  only  one 
has  found  it  out.  Now,  Harry,  I'm  much  worse  off  than 
you  at  this  minute.  Don't  I  know  where  the  shoe 
pinches  ?  Why,  I  haven't  seen  —  I've  scarcely  heard  of 
—  of —  well,  of  my  sweetheart  —  there,  you'll  understand 
that  —  for  this  year  and  more.  I  don't  know  when  I  may 
see  her  again.  I  don't  know  that  she  hasn't  clean  for- 
gotten me.  I  don't  know  that  she  ever  cared  a  straw  for 
me.  Now,  you  know  quite  well  that  you're  better  off  than 
that." 

"  I  bean't  so  sure  o'  that,  Master  Tom.  But  I  be  ter- 
rible vexed  to  hear  about  you." 

"  Never  mind  about  me.  You  say  you're  not  sure, 
Harry.  Come,  now,  you  said,  not  two  minutes  ago,  that 
you  two  had  broken  a  sixpence  over  it.  What  does  that 
mean,  now  ?  " 

"  Ah !  but  'tis  four  years  gone.  Her's  bin  a  leadin'  o' 
me  up  and  down,  and  a  dancin'  o'  me  round  and  round, 
purty  nigh  ever  since,  let  alone  the  time  as  she  wur  at 
Oxford,  when— " 

"  Well,  we  wont  talk  of  that,  Harry.  Come,  will 
yesterday  do  for  you  ?  If  you  thought  she  was  all  right 
yesterday,  would  that  satisfy  you  ?  " 

"  Ees  ;  and  summat  to  spare." 

"  You  don't  believe  it,  I  see.  Well,  why  do  you  think 
I  came  after  you  to-night  ?  How  did  I  know  what  was 
going  on?" 

"  That's  just  what  I've  been  a  axin'  o'  myself  as  we 
cum  along." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  tell  you.  I  came  because  I  got  a 
note  from  her  yesterday  at  Oxford."  Tom  paused,  for  he 
heard  a  muttered  growl  from  the  other  side  of  the  horse's 
head,  and   could   see,   even  in  the  fitful   moonlight,  the 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  281 

angry  toss  of  the  head  with  which  his  news  was  received. 
"  I  didn't  expect  this,  HaiTy,"  he  went  on  presently, 
"  after  what  I  told  you  just  now  about  myself.  It  Avas  a 
hard  matter  to  tell  it  at  all ;  but,  after  telling  you,  I  didn't 
think  you'd  suspect  me  any  more.  However,  perhaps 
I've  deserved  it.  So,  to  go  on  with  what  I  was  saying, 
two  years  ago,  when  I  came  to  my  senses  about  her,  and 
before  I  cared  for  any  one  else,  I  told  her  to  write  if  ever 
I  could  do  her  a  service.  Any  thing  that  a  man  could  do 
for  his  sister  I  was  bound  to  do  for  her,  and  I  told  her  so. 
She  never  answered  till  yesterday,  when  I  got  this  note," 
and  he  dived  into  the  inner  breast  pocket  of  his  shooting- 
coat.  "  If  it  isn't  soaked  to  pulp,  it's  in  my  pocket  now. 
Yes,  here  it  is,"  and  he  produced  a  dirty  piece  of  paper, 
and  handed  it  across  to  his  companion.  "  When  there's 
light  enough  to  read  it,  you'll  see  plain  enough  what  she 
means,  though  your  name  is  not  mentioned." 

Having  finished  his  statement,  Tom  retired  into  him- 
self, and  walked  along  watching  the  hurrying  clouds. 
After  they  had  gone  some  hundred  yards,  Harry  cleared 
his  throat  once  or  twice,  and  at  last  brought  out,  — 

"  Master  Tom." 

"  Well." 

"  You  bean't  offended  wi'  me,  sir,  I  hopes  ?  " 

"  No,  why  should  I  be  offended  ?  " 

"  'Cause  I  knows  I  be  so  all-fired  jealous,  I  can't  abear 
to  hear  o'  her  talkin',  let  alone  writin'  to  — " 

"  Out  with  it.     To  me,  you  were  going  to  say." 

"  Nay,  'tis  mwore  nor  that." 

"  All  right,  Harry,  if  you  only  lump  me  with  the  rest 
of  mankind,  I  don't  care.  But  you  needn't  be  jealous  of 
me,  and  you  musn't  be  jealous  of  me,  or  I  sha'n't  be  able 
to  help  you  as  I  want  to  do.  I'll  give  you  hand  and 
word  on  it,  as  man  to  man,  there's  no  thought  in  my  heart 
24* 


282  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

towards  her  that  you  mightn't  see  this  minute.  Do  you 
believe  me  ?  " 

"  Ees,  and  you'll  forgie  — " 

"  There's  nothing  to  forgive,  Harry.  But  now  you'll 
allow  your  case  isn't  such  a  bad  one.  She  must  keep  a 
good  look-out  after  you  to  know  what  you  were  likely  to 
be  about  to-day.  And  if  she  didn't  care  for  you  she 
wouldn't  have  written  to  me.  That's  good  sense,  I 
think." 

Harry  assented,  and  then  Tom  went  into  a  considera- 
tion of  what  was  to  be  done,  and,  as  usual,  fair  castles 
began  to  rise  in  the  air.  Harry  was  to  start  down  the 
line  at  once,  and  take  work  on  the  railway.  In  a  few 
weeks  he  would  be  captain  of  a  gang,  and  then  what  was 
to  hinder  his  becoming  a  contractor,  and  making  his  for- 
tune, and  buying  a  farm  of  his  own  at  Englebourn  ?  To 
all  which  Harry  listened  with  open  ears  till  they  got  off' 
the  heath,  and  came  upon  a  small  hamlet  of  some  half- 
dozen  cottages  scattered  along  the  road. 

"  There's  a  public  here,  I  suppose,"  said  Tom,  returning 
to  the  damp  realities  of  life.  Harry  indicated  the  humble 
place  of  entertainment  for  man  and  horse. 

"  That's  all  right.  I  hope  we  shall  find  my  friend 
here ; "  and  they  went  towards  the  light  which  was 
shining  temptingly  through  the  latticed  window  of  the 
road-side  inn. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

THE  LIEUTENANT'S  SENTIMENTS  AND  PROBLEMS. 

"  Stop  !  It  looks  so  bright  that  there  must  be  some- 
thing going  on.  Surely,  they  can  never  have  come  on 
here  already  ?  " 

Tom  laid  his  hand  on  the  bridle,  and  they  halted  on  the 
road  opposite  the  jiublic-house,  which  lay  a  little  back, 
with  an  open  space  of  ground  before  it.  The  sign-post, 
and  a  long  water-trough  for  the  horses  of  guests  to  drink 
at,  were  pushed  forward  to  the  side  of  the  road  to  intimate 
the  whereabouts  of  the  house,  and  the  hack  which  Harry 
led  was  already  drinking  eagerly. 

"  Stay  here  for  a  minute,  and  I'll  go  to  the  window, 
and  see  what's  up  inside.  It's  very  unlucky,  but  it  will 
never  do  for  us  to  go  in  if  there  are  any  people  there." 

Tom  stole  softly  up  to  the  window  out  of  which  the 
light  came.  A  little  scrap  of  a  curtain  was  drawn  across 
a  portion  of  it,  but  he  could  see  easily  into  the  room  on 
either  side  of  the  curtain.  The  first  glance  comforted 
him,  for  he  saw  at  once  that  there  was  only  one  person 
in  the  kitchen ;  but  who  and  what  he  might  be  was  a 
puzzle.  The  only  thing  which  was  clear  at  a  first  glance 
was,  that  he  was  making  himself  at  home. 

The  room  was  a  moderate-sized  kitchen,  with  a  sanded 
floor,  and  a  large  fireplace ;  a  high  wooden  screen,  with 
a  narrow  seat  in  front  of  it,  ran  along  the  side  on  which 
the  door  from  the  entrance-passage  opened.     In  the  mid- 


284  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

die  there  was  a  long,  rough,  walnut  table,  on  which  stood 
a  large  loaf,  some  cold  bacon  and  cheese,  and  a  yellow 
jug ;  a  few  heavy  rush-bottomed  chairs  and  a  settle  com- 
posed the  rest  of  the  furniture.  On  the  walls  were  a  few 
samplers,  a  warming  pan,  and  shelves  with  some  common 
delf  plates,  and  cups  and  saucers.  But  though  the  furni- 
ture was  meagre  enough,  the  kitchen  had  a  look  of  won- 
drous comfort  for  a  drenched  mortal  outside.  Tom  felt 
this  keenly,  and,  after  a  glance  round,  fixed  his  attention 
on  the  happy  occupant,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining 
whether  he  would  be  a  safe  person  to  intrude  on  under 
the  circumstances.  He  was  seated  on  a  low,  three-cor- 
nered oak  seat,  with  his  back  to  the  window,  steadying  a 
furze  faggot  on  the  fire  with  the  poker.  The  faggot  blazed 
and  crackled,  and  roared  up  the  chimney,  sending  out  the 
bright,  flickering  light  which  had  attracted  them,  and  form- 
ing a  glorious  top  to  the  glowing  clear  fire  of  wood  em- 
bers beneath,  into  which  was  inserted  a  long,  funnel- 
shaped  tin,  out  of  which  the  figure  helped  himself  to  some 
warm  compound,  when  he  had  settled  the  faggot  to  his 
satisfaction.  He  was  enveloped  as  to  his  shoulders  in  a 
heavy,  dirty-white  coat,  with  huge  cape  and  high  collar, 
which  hid  the  back  of  his  head,  such  as  was  then  in  use 
by  country  carriers ;  but  the  garment  was  much  too  short 
for  him,  and  his  bare  arms  came  out  a  foot  beyond  the  end 
of  the  sleeves.  The  rest  of  his  costume  was  even  more 
eccentric,  being  nothing  more  or  less  than  a  coarse  flannel 
petticoat ;  and  his  bare  feet  rested  on  a  mat  in  front  of 
the  fire. 

Tom  felt  a  sudden  doubt  as  to  his  sanity,  which  doubt 
was  apparently  shared  by  the  widow  woman,  who  kept  the 
house,  and  her  maid-of-all-work,  one  or  other  of  whom 
might  be  seen  constantly  keeping  an  eye  on  their  guest 
from  behind  the  end  of  the  wooden  screen.     However,  it 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  285 

was  no  time  to  be  over  particular ;  they  must  rest  before 
going  further,  and,  after  all,  it  was  only  one  man.  So 
Tom  thought,  and  was  just  on  the  point  of  calling  Harry 
to  come  on,  when  the  figure  turned  round  towards  the 
window,  and  the  face  of  the  lieutenant  disclosed  itself  be- 
tween the  highpeaked  gills  of  the  carrier's  coat.  Tom 
burst  into  a  loud  laugh,  and  called  out,  — 

"  It's  all  right,  come  along." 

"I'll  just  look  to  the  bosses,  Master  Tom." 

"Very  well,  and  then  come  into  the  kitchen  ;"  saying 
which,  he  hurried  into  the  house,  and  after  tumbling 
against  the  maid-of-all-work  in  the  passage,  emerged  from 
behind  the  screen. 

"  Well,  here  we  are  at  last,  old  fellow,"  he  said,  slap 
ping  East  on  the  shoulder. 

"  Oh,  it's  you,  is  it  ?  I  thought  you  were  in  the  lock-up 
by  this  time." 

East's  costume,  as  he  sat  looking  up,  with  a  hand  on 
each  knee,  was  even  more  ridiculous  on  a  close  inspection, 
and  Tom  roared  with  laughter  again. 

"  I  don't  see  the  joke,"  said  East,  without  moving  a 
muscle. 

"  You  would,  though,  if  you  could  see  yourself.  You 
wonderful  old  Guy,  where  did  you  pick  up  that  toggery  ?  " 

"  The  late  lamented  husband  of  the  Widow  Higgs,  our 
landlady,  was  the  owner  of  the  coat.  He  also  bequeathed 
to  her  several  pairs  of  breeches,  which  I  have  vainly  en- 
deavored to  get  into.  The  late  lamented  Higgs  was  an 
abominably  small  man.  He  must  have  been  very  much 
her  worse  half.  So,  in  default  of  other  clothing,  the  widow 
has  kindly  obliged  me  by  the  loan  of  one  of  her  own  gar- 
ments." 

"  Where  are  your  own  clothes  ?  " 

"  There,"  said  East,  pointing  to  a  clothes'  horse,  which 


286  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

Tom  had  not  hitherto  remarked,  which  stood  well  into  the 
chimney  corner ;  "  and  they  are  dry,  too,"  he  went  on, 
feeling  them  ;  "  at  least  the  flannel  shirt  and  trousers  are, 
so  I'll  get  into  them  again." 

"  I  say,  ma'am,"  he  called  out,  addressing  the  screen, 
"  I'm  going  to  change  my  things.  So  you  had  better  not 
look  in  just  now.  In  fact,  we  can  call  now  if  we  want 
any  thing." 

At  this  strong  hint  the  Widow  Higgs  was  heard  bus- 
tling away  behind  the  screen,  and  after  her  departure 
East  got  into  some  of  his  own  clothes  again,  offering  the 
cast-off  garments  of  the  Higgs  family  to  Tom,  who,  how- 
ever declined,  contenting  himself  with  taking  off  his  coat 
and  waistcoat,  and  hanging  them  up  on  the  horse.  He 
had  been  blown  comparatively  dry  in  the  last  half-hour  of 
his  walk. 

"While  East  was  making  his  toilet,  Tom  turned  to  the 
table,  and  made  an  assault  on  the  bread  and  bacon,  and 
then  poured  himself  out  a  glass  of  beer  and  began  to  drink 
it,  but  was  pulled  up  half  way,  and  put  it  down  with  a  face 
all  drawn  up  into  puckers  by  its  sharpness. 

"  I  thought  you  wouldn't  appreciate  the  widow's  tap," 
said  East,  watching  him,  with  a  grin.  "  Regular  whistle- 
belly  vengeance,  and  no  mistake !  Here,  I  don't  mind 
giving  you  some  of  my  compound,  though  you  don't  de- 
serve it." 

So  Tom  drew  his  chair  to  the  fire,  and  smacked  his 
lips  over  the  long-necked  glass,  which  East  handed  to  him. 

"  Ah !  that's  not  bad  tipple  after  such  a  ducking  as  we've 
had.     Dog's  nose,  isn't  it  ?  " 

East  nodded. 

"  "Well,  old  fellow,  I  will  say  you're  the  best  hand  I 
know  at  making  the  most  of  your  opportunities.     I  don't 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  287 

know  any  one  else  who  could  have  made  such  a  good  brew 
out  of  that  stuff  and  a  drop  of  gin." 

East  was  not  to  be  mollified  by  any  such  compliment. 

"  Have  you  got  any  more  such  jobs  as  to-day's  on  hand? 
I  should  think  they  must  interfere  with  reading." 

"  No.     But  I  call  to-day's  a  real  good  job." 

"  Do  you  ?  I  don't  agree.  Of  course  it's  a  matter  of 
taste.  I  have  the  honor  of  holding  her  majesty's  commis- 
sion ;  so  I  may  be  prejudiced  perhaps." 

"  What  difference  does  it  make  whose  commission  you 
hold?  You  wouldn't  hold  any  commission,  I  know,  which 
would  bind  you  to  be  a  tyrant  and  oppress  the  weak  and 
the  poor." 

"  Humbug  about  your  oppressing !  Who's  the  tyrant, 
I  should  like  to  know,  the  farmer,  or  the  mob  that  destroys 
his  property  ?  I  don't  call  Swing's  mob  the  weak  and  the 
poor." 

"  That's  all  very  well ;  but  I  should  like  to  know  how 
you'd  feel  if  you  had  no  work  and  a  starving  family.  You 
don't  know  what  the  people  have  to  suffer.  The  only 
wonder  is  that  all  the  country  isn't  in  a  blaze ;  and  it  will 
be,  if  things  last  as  they  are  much  longer.  It  must  be  a 
bad  time  which  makes  such  men  as  Harry  Winburn  into 
rioters." 

"  I  don't  know  any  thing  about  Harry  Winburn.  But 
I  know  there's  a  good  deal  to  be  said  on  the  yeomanry 
side  of  the  question." 

"Well,  now,  East,  just  consider  this  —  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  in  the  humor  for  considering.  I  don't 
want  to  argue  with  you." 

"  Yes,  that's  always  the  way.  You  wont  hear  what  a 
fellow's  got  to  say,  and  then  set  him  down  for  a  mischiev- 
ous fool,  because  he  wont  give  up  beliefs  founded  on  the 
evidence  of  his  own  eyes  and  cars  and  reason." 


288  tom  imowN  at  oxford. 

"I  don't  quarrel  with  any  of  your  beliefs.  You've  got 
'em  —  I  haven't  —  that's  just  the  difference  between  us. 
You've  got  some  sort  of  faith  to  fall  back  upon,  in  equal- 
ity and  brotherhood  and  a  lot  of  cursed  nonsense  of  that 
kind.  So,  I  dare  say,  you  could  drop  down  into  a  navi- 
gator, or  a  shoe  black,  or  something  in  that  way  to-mor- 
row, and  think  it  pleasant.  You  might  rather  enjoy  a 
trip  across  the  water  at  the  expense  of  your  country,  like 
your  friend  the  convict  here." 

"  Don't  talk  such  rot,  man.  In  the  first  place,  he  isn't 
a  convict  —  you  know  that,  well  enough." 

"  He  is  just  out  of  prison,  at  any  rate.  However,  this 
sort  of  thing  isn't  my  line  of  country  at  all.  So  the  next 
time  you  want  to  do  a  bit  of  gaol-delivery  on  your  own 
hook,  don't  ask  me  to  help  you." 

"  Well,  if  I  had  known  all  that  was  going  to  happen,  I 
wouldn't  have  asked  you  to  come,  old  fellow.  Come, 
give  us  another  glass  of  your  dog's-nose,  and  no  more  of 
your  sermon,  which  isn't  edifying." 

The  lieutenant  filled  the  long-necked  glass  which  Tom 
held  out  with  the  creaming  mixture,  which  he  was  nursing 
in  the  funnel-shaped  tin.  But  he  was  not  prepared  to 
waive  his  right  to  lecture,  and  so  continued,  while  Tom 
sipped  his  liquor  with  much  relish,  and  looked  comically 
across  at  his  old  schoolfellow. 

"  Some  fellows  have  a  call  to  set  the  world  right  —  I 
haven't.  My  gracious  sovereign  pays  me  seven  and  six- 
pence a  day ;  for  which  sum  I  undertake  to  be  shot  at  on 
certain  occasions  and  by  proper  persons,  and  I  hope  when 
the  time  comes  I  shall  take  it  as  well  as  another.  But 
that  doesn't  include  turning  out  to  be  potted  at  like  a 
woodcock  on  your  confounded  Berkshire  wilds  by  a 
turnip-headed  yeoman.     It  isn't  to  be  done  at  the  figure." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  you  mean  ?  " 


TOM    BKOWN    AT    OXFORD.  289 

"  I  moan  just  what  I  say." 

"  That  one  of  those  blessed  yeomanry  has  been  shoot- 
ing at  you  ?  " 

"  Just  so." 

"  No,  you  don't  really  mean  it  ?  "Wh-e-e-w !  Then 
that  shot  we  heard  was  fired  at  you.  'Pon  my  honor, 
I'm  very  sorry." 

"  Much  good  your  sorrow  would  have  done  me  if  your 
precious  countryman  had  held  straight." 

"  "Well,  what  can  I  say  more,  East  ?  If  there's  any 
thing  I  can  do  to  show  you  that  I  really  am  very  sorry, 
and  ashamed  at  having  brought  you  into  such  a  scrape, 
only  tell  me  what  it  is." 

"  I  don't  suppose  your  word  would  go  for  much  at  the 
Horse  Guards,  or  I'd  ask  you  to  give  me  a  character  for 
coolness  under  fire." 

"  Come,  I  see  you're  joking  now,  old  fellow.  Do  tell 
us  how  it  happened." 

"  Well,  when  you  turned  off  across  the  common  I  pulled 
up  for  half  a  minute,  and  then  held  on  at  a  steady,  slow 
trot.  If  I  had  pushed  on  ahead,  my  friends  behind  would 
have  been  just  as  likely  to  turn  after  you  as  after  me. 
Presently  I  heard  Number  One  coining  tearing  along  be- 
hind ;  and  as  soon  as  he  got  from  between  the  banks,  he 
saw  me,  and  came  straight  after  me  down  the  road.  You 
were  well  away  to  the  left,  so  now  I  just  clapped  on  a  bit, 
to  lead  him  further  away  from  the  right  scent,  and  on  he 
came  whooping  and  hallooing  to  me  to  pull  up.  I  didn't 
see  why  I  hadn't  just  as  good  a  right  to  ride  along  the 
road  at  my  own  pace  as  he  ;  so  the  more  he  shouted,  the 
more  I  didn't  stop.  But  the  beggar  had  the  legs  of  me. 
lie  was  mounted  on  something  deuced  like  a  thorough- 
bred, and  gained  on  me  hand  over  hand.  At  last  when 
I  judged  he  must  be  about  twenty  yards  behind,  I  thought 
25 


290  TOM    BKOWN   AT    OXFOKD. 

I  might  as  well  have  a  look  at  him  —  so  I  just  turned  for 
a  moment,  and,  by  Jove,  there  was  my  lord,  lugging  a 
pistol  out  of  his  right  holster.  He  shouted  again  to  me 
to  stop.  I  turned,  ducked  my  head,  and  the  next  mo- 
ment he  pulled  trigger  and  missed  me." 

"  And  what  happened  then  ?  "  said  Tom,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

"  Why,  I  flatter  myself  I  showed  considerable  general- 
ship. If  I  had  given  him  time  to  get  at  his  other  pistol, 
or  his  toasting-fork,  it  was  all  up.  I  dived  into  my 
pocket,  where  by  good  luck  there  was  some  loose  powder, 
and  copper  caps,  and  a  snuff-box ;  upset  the  snuff,  grabbed 
a  handful  of  the  mixture,  and  pulled  hard  at  my  horse. 
Next  moment  he  was  by  my  side,  lifting  his  pistol  to 
knock  me  over.  So  I  gave  him  the  mixture  right  in  his 
face,  and  let  him  go  by.  Up  went  both  his  hands,  and 
away  went  he  and  his  horse,  somewhere  over  the  com- 
mon out  of  sight.  I  just  turned  round,  and  walked  quietly 
back.  I  didn't  see  the  fun  of  accepting  any  more  attacks 
in  rear.  Then  up  rides  Number  Two,  a  broad-faced 
young  farmer  on  a  big  gray  horse,  blowing  like  a  gram- 
pus. He  pulled  up  short  when  we  met,  and  stared,  and 
I  walked  past  him.  You  never  saw  a  fellow  look  more 
puzzled,  I  had  regularly  stale-mated  him.  However,  he 
took  heart,  and  shouted,  had  I  met  the  captain  ?  I  said, 
a  gentleman  had  ridden  by  on  a  bright  bay.  '  That  was 
he :  which  way  had  he  gone  ? '  So  I  pointed  generally 
over  the  common,  and  Number  Two  departed ;  and  then 
down  came  the  storm,  and  I  turned  again  and  came  on 
here." 

"  The  captain  !  It  must  have  been  "Wurley,  then,  who 
fired  at  you." 

"  I  don't  know  who  it  was.  I  only  hope  he  wont  be 
blinded." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  291 

"It's  a  strange  business  altogether,"  said  Tom,  looking 
into  the  fire,  "  I  scarcely  know  what  to  think  of  it.  TVe 
should  never  have  pulled  through  but  for  you,  that's  cer- 
tain." 

"  I  know  what  to  think  of  it  well  enough,"  said  East. 
"  But  now  let's  hear  what  happened  to  you.  They  didn't 
catch  you,  of  course  ?  " 

"  No,  but  it  was  touch  and  go.  I  thought  it  was  all  up 
at  one  time,  for  Harry  would  turn  right  across  their  line. 
But  he  knew  what  he  was  about ;  there  was  a  bog  be- 
tween us,  and  they  came  on  right  into  it,  and  we  left 
them  floundering." 

"  The  convict  seems  to  have  his  head  about  him,  then. 
Where  is  he,  by  the  way  ?  I'm  curious  to  have  a  look  at 
him." 

"  Looking  after  the  horses.  I'll  call  him  in.  He 
ought  to  have  something  to  drink." 

Tom  went  to  the  door,  and  called  Harry,  who  came 
out  from  the  rough  shed  which  served  as  a  stable  in  his 
shirt,  with  a  whisp  of  hay  in  his  hand.  He  had  stripped 
off  coat  and  waistcoat,  and  braces,  and  had  been  warming 
himself  by  giving  the  horses  a  good  dressing. 

"  Why,  Harry,  you  haven't  had  any  thing,"  said  Tom  ; 
"  come  across,  and  have  a  glass  of  something  hot." 

Harry  followed  into  the  kitchen,  and  stood  by  the  end 
of  the  screen,  looking  rather  uncomfortable,  while  Tom 
poured  him  out  a  glass  of  the  hot  mixture,  and  the  lieu- 
tenant looked  him  over  with  keen  eyes. 

"  There,  take  that  off.     How  are  the  horses  ?  " 

"  Pretty  fresh,  Master  Tom.  But  they'd  be  the  better 
of  a  bran  mash  or  somethin'  cumfable.  I've  spoken  to 
the  missus  about  it,  and  'tis  ready  to  put  on  the  fire." 

"  That's  right,  then  ;  let  them  have  it  as  quick  as  you 
can." 


292  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Then  I  med  fetch  it  and  warm  it  up  here,  sir  ?  "  said 
Harry. 

"  To  be  sure  ;  the  sooner  the  better." 

Harry  took  off  his  glass,  making  a  shy  sort  of  duck 
with  his  head,  accompanied  by  "  Your  health,  sir,"  to  each 
of  his  entertainers,  and  then  disappeared  into  the  back 
kitchen,  returned  with  the  mash,  which  he  put  on  the  fire, 
and  went  off  to  the  stable  again. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ?  "  said  Tom. 

"  I  like  to  see  a  fellow  let  his  braces  down  when  he 
goes  to  work,"  said  East. 

"  It's  not  every  fellow  who  would  be  strapping  away  at 
those  horses,  instead  of  making  himself  at  home  in  the 
back  kitchen." 

"  No,  it  isn't,"  said  East. 

"  Don't  you  like  his  looks  now  ?  " 

"  He's  not  a  bad  sort,  your  convict." 

"  I  say,  I  wish  you  wouldn't  call  him  names." 

"  Very  good ;  your  unfortunate  friend,  then.  What 
are  you  going  to  do  with  him  ?  " 

"  That's  just  what  I've  been  puzzling  about  all  the  way 
here :  what  do  you  think  ? "  and  then  they  drew  to  the 
fire  again,  and  began  to  talk  over  Harry's  prospects. 
In  some  ten  minutes  he  returned  to  the  kitchen  for  the 
mash,  and  this  time  drew  a  complimentary  remark  from 
the  lieutenant. 

Harry  was  passionately  fond  of  animals,  and  especially 
of  horses,  and  they  found  it  out  quickly  enough,  as  they 
always  do.  The  two  hacks  were  by  this  time  almost  fresh 
again,  with  dry  coats,  and  feet  well  washed  and  cleansed ; 
and,  while  working  at  them,  Harry  had  been  thinking 
over  all  he  had  heard  that  evening,  and  found  himself 
getting  more  hopeful  every  minute.  No  one  who  had 
seen  his  face  an  hour  before  on  the  heath  would  have  be- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  293 

lieved  it  was  the  same  man  who  was  now  patting  and  fon- 
dling the  two  hacks  as  they  slowly  ate  up  the  mash  he 
had  prepared  for  them.  "When  they  had  finished  he  leant 
back  against  the  manger,  rubbing  the  ears  of  Tom's  hack 

—  the  one  which  had  carried  double  so  well  in  their  first 
flight  —  gently  with  his  two  hands,  while  the  delighted 
beast  bent  down  its  head,  and  pressed  it  against  him,  and 
stretched  its  neck,  expressing  in  all  manner  of  silent  ways 
its  equine  astonishment  and  satisfaction.  By  the  light  of 
the  single  dip  Harry's  face  grew  shorter  and  shorter,  unti' 
the  old  merry  look  began  to  creep  back  into  it. 

As  we  have  already  taken  the  liberty  of  putting  the 
thoughts  of  his  betters  into  words,  we  must  now  do  so  for 
him  ;  and,  if  he  had  expressed  his  thoughts  as  he  rubbed 
the  hack's  ears  in  the  stable,  his  speech  would  have  been 
much  as  follows  :  — 

"  How  cums  it  as  I  be  all  changed  like,  as  tho'  sum  un 
had  tuk  and  rubbed  all  the  down-heartcdness  out  o'  me  ? 
Here  I  be,  two  days  out  o'  gaol,  wi'  nothin'  in  the 
world  but  the  things  I  stands  in  —  for  in  course  I  med 
just  give  up  the  bits  o'  things  as  is  left  at  Daddy  Collins' 

—  and  they  all  draggled  wi'  the  wet  —  and  I  med  be  tuk 
in  the  mornin'  and  sent  across  the  water  —  and  yet  I 
feels  sumhow  as  peert  as  a  yukkel.  So  fur  as  I  can  see, 
'tis  jest  nothin'  but  talkin'  wi'  our  Master  Tom.  "What  a 
fine  thing  'tis  to  be  schollard,  and  yet  seemin'ly  'tis  nothin' 
but  talk  arter  all's  said  and  done.  But  'tis  alius  the  same ; 
whenever  I  gets  talkin'  wi'  he,  it  all  cums  out  as  smooth 
as  crame.  Fust  time  as  ever  I  seen  him  since  we  wur 
bwys  he  talked  just  as  a  do  now  ;  and  then  my  poor 
mother  died.  Then  he  cum  in  arter  the  tuneral,  and 
talked  me  up  again,  till  I  thought  as  I  wur  to  hev  our 
cottage  and  all  the  land  as  I  could  do  good  by;  but  our 
cottage  wur  tuk  away,  and  my  'lotment  besides.     Then 

25* 


294  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

cum  last  summer,  and  'twur  jest  the  same  agen  arter  his 
talk,  but  I  got  dree  months  auver  that  job.  And  now 
here  I  be  wi'  un  agen,  a  runnin'  from  the  constable,  and 
like  to  be  tuk  up  and  transpworted,  and  'tis  just  the  same 
—  and  I  s'pose  'twill  be  just  the  same  if  ever  I  gets  back, 
and  sees  un,  and  talks  wi'  un,  if  I  be  gwine  to  be  hung. 
'Tis  a  wunnerful  thing  to  be  a  schollard,  to  be  able  to  make 
things  look  all  straight  when  they  be  ever  so  akkered  and 
unked." 

And  then  Harry  left  off  rubbing  the  horse's  ears ;  and, 
pulling  the  damp  piece  of  paper  which  Tom  had  given 
him  out  of  his  breeches  pocket,  proceeded  to  flatten  it  out 
tenderly  on  the  palm  of  his  hand,  and  read  it  by  the  light 
of  the  dip,  when  the  landlady  came  to  inform  him  that  the 
gentlefolk  wanted  him  in  the  kitchen.  So  he  folded  his 
treasure  up  again,  and  went  off  to  the  kitchen.  He  found 
Tom  standing  with  his  back  to  the  fire,  while  the  lieuten- 
ant was  sitting  at  the  table  writing  on  a  scrap  of  paper, 
which  the  landlady  had  produced  after  much  hunting  over 
of  drawers.     Tom  began,  with  some  little  hesitation  :  — 

"  O  Harry,  I've  been  talking  your  matters  over  with 
my  friend  here,  and  I've  changed  my  mind.  It  wont  do 
after  all  for  you  to  stay  about  at  railway  work,  or  any 
thing  of  that  sort.  You  see  you  wouldn't  be  safe.  They'd 
be  sure  to  trace  you,  and  you'd  get  into  trouble  about  this 
day's  work.  And  then,  after  all,  it's  a  very  poor  opening 
for  a  young  fellow  like  you.  Now,  why  shouldn't  you  en- 
list into  Mr.  East's  regiment  ?  You'll  be  in  his  company, 
and  it's  a  splendid  profession.     What  do  you  say  now  ?  " 

East  looked  up  at  poor  Harry,  who  was  quite  taken 
aback  at  this  change  in  his  prospects,  and  could  only  mut- 
ter he  had  never  turned  his  mind  to  "  sodgerin." 

"It's  just  the  thing  for  you,"  Tom  went  on.  "You 
can  write  and  keep  accounts,  and  you'll  get  on  famously. 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  295 

Ask  Mr.  East  if  you  wont.  And  don't  you  fear  about 
matters  at  home.  You'll  see  that'll  all  come  right.  I'll 
pledge  you  my  word  it  will,  and  I'll  take  care  that  you 
shall  hear  every  thing  that  goes  on  there,  and  depend 
upon  it,  it's  your  best  chance.  You'll  be  back  at  Engle- 
bourn  as  a  sergeant  in  no  time,  and  be  able  to  snap  your 
fingers  at  them  all.  You'll  come  with  us  to  Steventon 
station,  and  take  the  night  train  to  London,  and  then  in 
the  morning  go  to  Whitehall,  and  find  Mr.  East's  ser- 
geant. He'll  give  you  a  note  to  him,  and  they'll  send 
you  on  to  Chatham,  where  the  regiment  is.  You  think 
it's  the  best  thing  for  him,  don't  you  ?  "  said  Tom,  turning 
to  East. 

"  Yes ;  I  think  you'll  do  very  well  if  you  only  keep 
steady.  Here's  a  note  to  the  sergeant,  and  I  shall  be  back 
at  Chatham  in  a  day  or  two  myself." 

Harry  took  the  note  mechanically ;  he  was  quite  unable 
yet  to  make  any  resistance. 

"  And  now  get  something  to  eat  as  quick  as  you  can, 
for  we  ought  to  be  off.  The  horses  are  all  right,  I  sup- 
pose ?  " 

"  Yes,  Master  Tom,"  said  Harry,  with  an  appealing 
look. 

"  Where  are  your  coat  and  waistcoat,  Harry  ?  " 

"  They  be  in  the  stable,  sir." 

"  In  the  stable  !     Why,  they're  all  wet  then  still  ?  " 

"  Oh,  'tis  no  odds  about  that,  Master  Tom." 

"  No  odds  !  Get  them  in  directly,  and  put  them  to  dry 
here." 

So  Harry  Winburn  went  off  to  the  stable  to  fetch  his 
clothes. 

"  lie's  a  fine  fellow,"  said  East,  getting  up  and  coming 
to  the  fire ;  "  I've  taken  a  fancy  to  him,  but  he  doesn't 
fancy  enlisting." 


296  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

"  Poor  fellow  !  he  has  to  leave  his  sweetheart.  It's  a 
sad  business,  hut  it's  the  hest  thing  for  him,  and  you'll  see 
he'll  go." 

Tom  was  right.  Poor  Harry  came  in  and  dried  his 
clothes,  and  got  his  supper,  and  while  he  was  eating  it, 
and  all  along  the  road  afterwards,  till  they  reached  the 
station  at  about  eleven  o'clock,  pleaded  in  his  plain  way 
with  Tom  against  leaving  his  own  country  side.  And 
East  listened  silently,  and  liked  him  better  and  better. 

Tom  argued  with  him  gently,  and  turned  the  matter 
round  on  all  sides,  putting  the  most  hopeful  face  upon  it ; 
and,  in  the  end,  talked  first  himself,  and  then  Harry,  into 
the  belief  that  it  was  the  very  best  thing  that  could  have 
happened  to  him,  and  more  likely  than  any  other  course 
of  action  to  bring  every  thing  right  between  him  and  all 
folk  at  Englebourn. 

So  Harry  got  into  the  train  at  Steventon  in  pretty  good 
heart,  with  his  fare  paid,  and  half  a  sovereign  in  his 
pocket,  more  and  more  impressed  in  his  mind  with  what 
a  wonderful  thing  it  was  to  be  a  "  schollard." 

The  two  friends  rode  back  to  Oxford  at  a  good  pace. 
They  had  both  of  them  quite  enough  to  think  about,  and 
were  not  in  the  humor  for  talk,  had  place  and  time  served, 
so  that  scarce  a  word  passed  between  them,  till  they  had 
left  their  horses  at  the  livery  stables,  and  were  walking 
through  the  silent  streets  a  few  minutes  before  midnight. 
Then  East  broke  silence. 

"  I  can't  make  out  how  you  do  it.  I'd  give  half  a 
year's  pay  to  get  the  way  of  it." 

"  The  way  of  what  ?     What  are  you  talking  about  ?  " 

"  Why,  your  way  of  shutting  your  eyes,  and  going  in 
blind." 

"  Well,  that's  a  queer  wish  for  a  fighting  man,"  said 
Tom,  laughing.     "  We  always  thought  a  rusher  no  good 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  297 

at  school,  and  that  the  thing  to  learn  was  to  go  in  with 
your  own  eyes  open,  and  shut  up  other  people's." 

"  Ah,  but  we  hadn't  cut  our  eyeteeth  then.  I  look  at 
these  things  from  a  professional  point  of  view.  My  busi- 
ness is  to  get  fellows  to  shut  their  eyes  tight,  and  I  begin 
to  think,  you  can't  do  it  as  it  should  be  done,  without 
shutting  your  own  first." 

"  I  don't  take." 

"  Why,  look  at  the  way  you  talked  your  convict  —  I 
beg  your  pardon  —  your  unfortunate  friend  —  into  enlist- 
ing to-night.  You  talked  as  if  you  believed  every  word 
you  were  saying  to  him." 

"  So  I  did." 

"  Well,  I  should  like  to  have  you  for  a  recruiting  ser- 
geant, if  you  could  only  drop  that  radical  bosh.  If  I  had 
had  to  do  it,  instead  of  enlisting,  he  would  have  gone 
straight  off  and  hung  himself  in  the  stable." 

"  I'm  glad  you  didn't  try  your  hand  at  it,  then." 

"  Look  again  at  me.     Do  you  think  any  one  but  such  a 

—  well,  I  don't  want  to  say  any  thing  uncivil  —  a  head- 
long dog  like  you  could  have  got  me  into  such  a  business 
as  to-day's  ?  Now  I  want  to  be  able  to  get  other  fellows 
to  make  just  such  fools  of  themselves  as  I've  made  of  my- 
self to-day.     How  do  you  do  it  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,  unless  it  is  that  I  can't  help  always 
looking  at  the  best  side  of  things  myself,  and  so  —  " 

"  Most  things  haven't  got  a  best  side." 

"  Well  a  better,  then." 

"  Nor  a  better." 

"  If  they  haven't  got  a  better,  of  course,  it  don't  mat- 
ter." 

"  No,  I  don't  believe  it  does  —  much.  Still,  I  should 
like  to  be  able  to  make  a  fool  of  myself,  too,  when  I  want 

—  with  the  view  of  getting  others  to  do  ditto,  of  course." 


298  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  wish  I  could  help  you,  old  fellow  ;  but  I  don't  see 
my  way  to  it." 

u  I  shall  talk  to  our  regimental  doctor  about  it,  and  get 
put  through  a  course  of  fool's-diet  before  we  start  for  In- 
dia." 

"  Flap-doodle,  they  call  it,  what  fools  are  fed  on.  But 
it's  odd  that  you  should  have  broken  out  in  this  place, 
when  all  the  way  home  I've  been  doing  nothing  but  en- 
vying your  special  talent." 

"What's  that?" 

"Just  the  opposite  one  —  the  art  of  falling  on  your 
feet.     I  should  like  to  exchange  with  you." 

••  You'd  make  a  precious  bad  bargain  of  it,  then." 

"There's  twelve  striking.  I  must  knock  in.  Good- 
night.    You'll  be  round  to  breakfast  at  nine  ?  " 

"  All  right.  I  believe  in  your  breakfasts,  rather,"  said 
East,  as  they  shook  hands  at  the  gate  of  St.  Ambrose,  into 
which  Tom  disappeared,  while  the  lieutenant  strolled  back 
to  the  Mitre. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


TRIED     TEAR. 


East  returned  to  his  regiment  in  a  few  days,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  month  the  gallant  101st  embarked  for 
India.  Tom  wrote  several  letters  to  the  lieutenant,  in- 
closing notes  to  Harry  with  gleanings  of  news  from 
Englebourn,  where  his  escape  on  the  night  of  the  riot 
had  been  a  nine-days'  wonder,  and,  now  that  he  was 
fairly  "  listed  "  and  out  of  the  way,  public  opinion  was 
beginning  to  turn  in  his  favor.  In  due  course  a  letter 
arrived  from  the  lieutenant,  dated  Cape  Town,  giving  a 
prosperous  account  of  the  voyage  so  far.  East  did  not 
say  much  about  "  your  convict,"  as  he  still  insisted  on 
calling  Harry  ;  but  the  little  he  did  say  was  very  satis- 
factory, and  Tom  sent  off  this  part  of  the  letter  to  Katie, 
to  whom  he  had  confided  the  whole  story,  entreating  her 
to  make  the  best  use  of  it  in  the  interests  of  the  young 
soldier.  And,  after  this  out-of-the-way  beginning,  he 
settled  down  into  the  usual  routine  of  his  Oxford  life. 

The  change  in  his  opinions  and  objects  of  interest 
brought  him  now  into  more  intimate  relations  with  a  set 
of  whom  he  had  as  yet  seen  little.  For  want  of  a  better 
name,  we  may  call  them  "the  party  of  progress."  At 
their  parties,  instead  of  practical  jokes  and  boisterous 
mirth  and  talk  of  boats  and  bats  and  guns  and  horses,  the 
highest  and  deepest  questions  of  morals  and  politics  and 
metaphysics  were  discussed,  and  discussed  with  a  fresh- 


300  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

ness  and  enthusiasm  which  is  apt  to  wear  off  when  doing 
has  to  take  the  place  of  talking,  but  has  a  strange  charm 
of  its  own  while  it  lasts,  and  is  looked  back  to  with  loving 
regret  by  those  for  whom  it  is  no  longer  a  possibility. 

With  this  set  Tom  soon  fraternized,  and  drank  in  many 
new  ideas,  and  took  to  himself  also  many  new  crotchets 
besides  those  with  which  he  was  already  weighted.  Al- 
most all  his  new  acquaintance  were  Liberal  in  politics, 
but  a  few  only  were  ready  to  go  all  lengths  with  him. 
They  were  all  Union  men,  and  Tom,  of  course,  followed 
the  fashion,  and  soon  propounded  theories  in  that  institu- 
tion which  gained  him  the  name  of  Chartist  Brown. 

There  was  a  strong  mixture  of  self-conceit  in  it  all. 
He  had  a  kind  of  idea  that  he  had  discovered  something 
which  it  was  creditable  to  have  discovered,  and  that  it 
was  a  very  fine  thing  to  have  all  these  feelings  for,  and 
sympathies  with,  the  masses,  and  to  believe  in  democracy 
and  glorious  humanity  and  a  good  time  coming,  and  I 
know  not  what  other  big  matters.  And,  although  it 
startled  and  pained  him  at  first  to  hear  himself  called 
ugly  names,  which  he  had  hated  and  despised  from  his 
youth  up,  and  to  know  that  many  of  his  old  acquaintance 
looked  upon  him,  not  simply  as  a  madman,  but  as  a  mad- 
man with  snobbish  proclivities ;  yet,  when  the  first  plunge 
was  over,  there  was  a  good  deal  on  the  other  hand  which 
tickled  his  vanity,  and  was  far  from  being  unpleasant. 

To  do  him  justice,  however,  the  disagreeables  were 
such  that,  had  there  not  been  some  genuine  belief  at  the 
bottom,  he  would  certainly  have  been  headed  back  very 
speedily  into  the  fold  of  political  and  social  orthodoxy. 
As  it  was,  amidst  the  cloud  of  sophisms  and  platitudes 
and  big  one-sided  ideas  half  mastered,  which  filled  his 
thoughts  and  overflowed  in  his  talk,  there  was  growing  in 
him  and  taking  firmer  hold  on  him  daily  a  true  and  broad 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  301 

sympathy  for  men  as  men,  and  especially  for  poor  men  as 
poor  men,  and  a  righteous  and  burning  hatred  against  all 
laws,  customs,  or  notions,  which,  according  to  his  light, 
either  were  or  seemed  to  be  setting  aside,  or  putting  any 
thing  else  in  the  place  of,  or  above  the  man.  It  was  with 
him  the  natural  outgrowth  of  the  child's  and  boy's  train- 
ing (though  his  father  would  have  been  much  astonished 
to  be  told  so),  and  the  instincts  of  those  early  days  were 
now  getting  rapidly  set  into  habits  and  faiths,  and  becom- 
ing a  part  of  himself. 

In  this  stage  of  his  life,  as  in  so  many  former  ones, 
Tom  got  great  help  from  his  intercourse  with  Hardy,  now 
the  rising  tutor  of  the  college.  Hardy  was  travelling 
much  the  same  road  himself  as  our  hero,  but  was  some- 
what further  on,  and  had  come  into  it  from  a  different 
country,  and  through  quite  other  obstacles.  Their  early 
lives  had  heen  so  different ;  and,  both  by  nature  and  from 
long  and  severe  self-restraint  and  discipline,  Hardy  was 
much  the  less  impetuous  and  demonstrative  of  the  two. 
He  did  not  rush  out,  therefore  (as  Tom  was  too  much  in- 
clined to  do),  the  moment  he  had  seized  hold  of  the  end 
of  a  new  idea  which  he  felt  to  be  good  for  him  and  what 
he  wanted,  and  brandish  it  in  the  face  of  all  comers,  and 
think  himself  a  traitor  to  the  truth  if  he  wasn't  trying  to 
make  everybody  he  met  with  eat  it.  Hardy,  on  the  con- 
trary, would  test  his  new  idea,  and  turn  it  over,  and 
prove  it  as  far  as  he  could,  and  try  to  get  hold  of  the 
whole  of  it,  and  ruthlessly  strip  off  any  tinsel  or  rose-pink 
sentiment  with  which  it  might  happen  to  be  connected. 

Often  and  often  did  Tom  suffer  under  this  severe 
method,  and  rebel  against  it,  and  accuse  his  friend,  both 
to  his  face  and  in  his  own  secret  thoughts,  of  coldness  and 
want  of  faith,  and  all  manner  of  other  sins  of  omission 
and  commission.  In  the  end,  however,  he  generally 
26 


302  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

came  round,  with  more  or  less  of  rebellion,  according  to 
the  severity  of  the  treatment,  and  acknowledged  that, 
when  Hardy  brought  him  down  from  riding  the  high 
horse,  it  was  not  without  good  reason,  and  that  the  dust 
in  which  he  was  rolled  was  always  most  wholesome 
dust. 

For  instance,  there  was  no  phrase  more  frequently  in 
the  mouths  of  the  party  of  progress  than  "  the  good 
cause."  It  was  a  fine,  big-sounding  phrase,  which  could 
be  used  with  great  effect  in  perorations  of  speeches  at  the 
Union,  and  was  sufficiently  indefinite  to  be  easily  de- 
fended from  ordinary  attacks,  while  it  saved  him  who 
used  it  the  trouble  of  ascertaining  accurately  for  himself 
or  settling  for  his  hearers  what  it  really  did  mean.  But, 
however  satisfactory  it  might  be  before  promiscuous  audi- 
ences, and  so  long  as  vehement  assertion  or  declaration 
was  all  that  was  required  to  uphold  it,  this  same  "  good 
cause  "  was  liable  to  come  to  much  grief  when  it  had  to 
get  itself  defined.  Hardy  was  particularly  given  to  per- 
secution on  this  subject,  when  he  could  get  Tom,  and, 
perhaps,  one  or  two  others,  in  a  quiet  room  by  them- 
selves. While  professing  the  utmost  sympathy  for  "  the 
good  cause,"  and  a  hope  as  strong  as  theirs  that  all  its 
enemies  might  find  themselves  suspended  to  lamp-posts  as 
soon  as  possible,  he  would  pursue  it  into  corners  from 
which  escape  was  most  difficult,  asking  it  and  its  support- 
ers what  it  exactly  was,  and  driving  them  from  one  cloud- 
land  to  another,  and  from  "  the  good  cause "  to  the 
"  people's  cause,"  "  the  cause  of  labor,"  and  other  like 
troublesome  definitions,  until  the  great  idea  seemed  to 
have  no  shape  or  existence  any  longer  even  in  their  own 
brains. 

But  Hardy's  persecution,  provoking  as  it  was  for  the 
time,  never  went  to  the  undermining  of  any  real  convic- 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  303 

tion  in  the  minds  of  his  juniors,  or  the  shaking  of  an> 
thing  which  did  not  need  shaking,  but  only  helped  them 
to  clear  their  ideas  and  brains  as  to  what  they  were  talk- 
ing and  thinking  about,  and  gave  them  glimpses  —  soon 
clouded  over  again,  but  most  useful,  nevertheless  —  of  the 
truth,  that  there  were  a  good  many  knotty  questions  to  be 
solved  before  a  man  could  be  quite  sure  that  he  had  found 
out  the  way  to  set  the  world  thoroughly  to  rights,  and 
heal  all  the  ills  that  flesh  is  heir  to. 

Hardy  treated  another  of  his  friend's  most  favorite  no- 
tions even  with  less  respect  than  this  one  of  "  the  good 
cause."  Democracy,  that  "  universal  democracy,"  which 
their  favorite  author  had  recently  declared  to  be  "  an  in- 
evitable fact  of  the  days  in  which  we  live,"  was,  perhaps, 
on  the  whole  the  pet  idea  of  the  small  section  of  liberal 
young  Oxford,  with  whom  Tom  was  now  hand  and 
glove.  They  lost  no  opportunity  of  worshipping  it,  and 
doing  battle  for  it ;  and,  indeed,  did  most  of  them  very 
truly  believe  that  that  state  of  the  world  which  this  uni- 
versal democracy  was  to  bring  about,  and  which  was  com- 
ing no  man  could  say  how  soon,  was  to  be  in  fact  that  age 
of  peace  and  good-will  which  men  had  dreamed  of  in  all 
times,  when  the  lion  should  lie  down  with  the  kid,  and  na- 
tion should  not  vex  nation  any  more. 

After  hearing  something  to  this  effect  from  Tom  on 
several  occasions,  Hardy  cunningly  lured  him  to  his 
rooms  on  the  pretence  of  talking  over  the  prospects  of  the 
boat  club,  and  then,  having  seated  him  by  the  fire,  which 
he  himself  proceeded  to  assault  gently  with  the  poker,  pro- 
pounded suddenly  to  him  the  question, — 

"  Brown,  I  should  like  to  know  what  you  mean  by  '  de- 
mocracy '  ?  " 

Tom  at  once  saw  the  trap  into  which  he  had  fallen,  and 
made  several  efforts   to  break  away,  but  unsuccessfully ; 


304  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

and,  being  seated  to  a  cup  of  tea,  and  allowed  to  smoke, 
was  then  and  there  grievously  oppressed  and  mangled 
and  sat  upon,  by  his  oldest  and  best  friend.  He  took  his 
ground  carefully,  and  propounded  only  what  he  felt  sure 
that  Hardy  himself  would  at  once  accept,  —  what  no  man 
of  any  worth  could  possibly  take  exception  to.  He  meant 
much  more,  he  said,  than  this,  but  for  the  present  purpose 
it  would  be  enough  for  him  to  say  that,  whatever  else  it 
might  mean,  democracy  in  his  mouth  always  meant  that 
every  man  should  have  a  share  in  the  government  of  his 
country. 

Hardy,  seeming  to  acquiesce,  and  making  a  sudden 
change  in  the  subject  of  their  talk,  decoyed  his  innocent 
guest  away  from  the  thought  of  democracy  for  a  few  min- 
utes, by  holding  up  to  him  the  flag  of  hero-worship,  in 
which  worship  Tom  was,  of  course,  a  sedulous  believer. 
Then,  having  involved  him  in  most  difficult  country,  his 
persecutor  opened  fire  upon  him  from  masked  batteries  of 
the  most  deadly  kind,  the  guns  being  all  from  the  ar- 
mory of  his  own  prophets. 

"  You  long  for  the  rule  of  the  ablest  man,  everywhere, 
at  all  times  ?  To  find  your  ablest  man,  and  then  give 
him  power,  and  obey  him  —  that  you  hold  to  be  about  the 
highest  act  of  wisdom  which  a  nation  can  be  capable  of?  " 

"  Yes  ;  and  you  know  you  believe  that  too,  Hardy,  just 
as  firmly  as  I  do." 

"  I  hope  so.  But  then,  how  about  our  universal  de- 
mocracy, and  every  man  having  a  share  in  the  govern- 
ment of  his  country  ?  " 

Tom  felt  that  his  flank  was  turned ;  in  fact,  the  contrast 
of  his  two  beliefs  had  never  struck  him  vividly  before,  and 
he  was  consequently  much  confused.  But  Hardy  went  on 
tapping  a  big  coal  gently  with  the  poker,  and  gave  him 
time  to  recover  himself  and  collect  his  thoughts. 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  30b 

"  I  don't  mean,  of  course,  that  every  man  is  to  have  ac 
actual  share  in  the  government,"  he  said,  at  last. 

"  But  every  man  is  somehow  to  have  a  share ;  and,  if 
not  an  actual  one,  I  can't  see  what  the  proposition  cornea 
to." 

"I  call  it  having  a  share  in  the  government  when  a  man 
has  a  share  in  saying  who  shall  govern  him." 

"  Well,  you'll  own  that's  a  very  different  thing.  But, 
let's  see  ;  will  that  find  our  wisest  governor  for  us  —  let- 
ting all  the  foolishest  men  in  the  nation  have  a  say  as  to 
who  he  is  to  be  ?  " 

"  Come  now,  Hardy ;  I've  heard  you  say  that  you  are 
for  manhood  suffrage." 

"  That's  another  question ;  you  let  in  another  idea 
there ;  at  present  we  are  considering  whether  the  vox 
populi  is  the  best  test  for  finding  your  best  man.  I'm 
afraid  all  history  is  against  you." 

"  That's  a  good  joke.     Now,  there  I  defy  you,  Hardy." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning,  then,  and  let  us  see." 

"  I  suppose  you'll  say,  then,  that  the  Egyptian  and 
Babylonian  empires  were  better  than  the  little  Jewish  re- 
public." m 

"  Republic !  well,  let  that  pass.  But  I  never  heard 
that  the  Jews  elected  Moses,  or  any  of  the  judges." 

"  "Well,  never  mind  the  Jews ;  they're  an  exceptional 
case  :  you  can't  argue  from  them." 

"  I  don't  admit  that.  I  believe  just  the  contrary.  But 
go  on." 

""Well,  then,  what  do  jrou  say  to  the  glorious  Greek  re- 
publics, with  Athens  at  the  head  of  them  ?  " 

"  I  say  that  no  nation   ever  treated  their  best  men  so 

badly.     I  see  I  must  put  on  a  lecture  in  Aristophanes  for 

your  special   benefit.     Vain,  irritable,  shallow,  suspicious 

old  Demus,  with  his  two  oboli  in  his  cheek,  and  doubting 

20* 


306  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

only  between  Cleon  and  the  sausage-seller,  which  he  shall 
choose  for  his  wisest  man  —  not  to  govern,  but  to  serve 
his  whims  and  caprices.  You  must  call  another  witness, 
I  think." 

"  But  that's  a  caricature." 

"  Take  the  picture,  then,  out  of  Thucydides,  Plato, 
Xenophon,  how  you  will,  and  where  you  will  —  you  wont 
mend  the  matter  much.  You  shouldn't  go  so  fast,  Brown; 
you  wont  mind  my  saying  so,  I  know.  You  don't  get 
clear  in  your  own  mind  before  you  pitch  into  every  one 
who  comes  across  you,  and  so  do  your  own  side  (which  I 
admit  is  often  the  right  one)  more  harm  than  good." 

Tom  couldn't  stand  being  put  down  so  summarily,  and 
fought  over  the  ground  from  one  country  to  another,  from 
Rome  to  the  United  States,  with  all  the  arguments  he 
could  master,  but  with  little  success.  That  unfortunate 
first  admission  of  his,  he  felt  it  throughout  like  a  mill- 
stone round  his  neck,  and  could  not  help  admitting  to  him- 
self, when  he  left,  that  there  was  a  good  deal  in  Hardy's 
concluding  remark,  "  You'll  find  it  rather  a  tough  busi- 
ness to  get  your  '  universal  democracy,'  and  '  government 
Iff  the  wisest,'  to  pull  together  in  one  coach." 

Notwithstanding  all  such  occasional  reverses  and  cold 
baths,  however,  Tom  went  on  strengthening  himself  in  his 
new  opinions,  and  maintaining  them  with  all  the  zeal  of  a 
convert.  The  shelves  of  his  bookcase,  and  the  walls  of 
his  rooms,  soon  began  to  show  signs  of  the  change  which 
was  taking  place  in  his  ways  of  looking  at  men  and  things. 
Hitherto  a  framed  engraving  of  George  III.  had  hung 
over  his  mantelpiece ;  but  early  in  this,  his  third  year, 
the  frame  had  disappeared  for  a  few  days,  and  when  it 
re-appeared,  the  solemn  face  of  John  Milton  looked  out 
from  it,  while  the  honest  monarch  had  retired  into  a  port- 
folio.    A  fac-siinile  of  Magna  Charta  soon  displaced  a 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  307 

large  colored  print  of  "  A  Day  with  the  Pycheley  ; "  and 
soon  afterwards  the  death-warrant  of  Charles  I.  with  its 
grim  and  resolute  rows  of  signatures  and  seals,  appeared 
on  the  wall  in  a  place  of  honor,  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Milton. 

Squire  Brown  was  passing  through  Oxford,  and  paid 
his  son  a  visit  soon  after  this  last  arrangement  had  been 
completed.  He  dined  in  hall,  at  the  high  table,  being 
still  a  member  of  the  college,  and  afterwards  came  with 
Hardy  to  Tom's  rooms  to  have  a  quiet  glass  of  wine,  and 
spend  the  evening  with  his  son  and  a  few  of  his  friends, 
who  had  been  asked  to  meet  "the  governor." 

Tom  had  a  struggle  with  himself  whether  he  should 
not  remove  the  death-warrant  into  his  bedroom  for  the 
evening,  and  had  actually  taken  it  down  with  this  view  ; 
but  in  the  end  he  could  not  stomach  such  a  backsliding, 
and  so  restored  it  to  its  place.  "  I  have  never  concealed 
my  opinions  from  my  father,"  he  thought,  "  though  I  don't 
think  he  quite  knows  what  they  are.  But  if  he  doesn't,  he 
ought,  and  the  sooner  the  better.  I  should  be  a  sneak  to 
try  to  hide  them.  I  know  he  wont  like  it,  but  he  is  al- 
ways just  and  fair,  and  will  make  allowances.  At  any 
rate,  up  it  goes  again." 

And  so  he  rehung  the  death-warrant,  but  with  the  de- 
vout secret  hope  that  his  father  might  not  see  it. 

The  wine-party  went  off  admirably.  The  men  were 
nice,  gentlemanly,  intelligent  fellows ;  and  the  squire,  who 
had  been  carefully  planted  by  Tom  with  his  back  to  the 
death-warrant,  enjoyed  himself  very  much.  At  last  they 
all  went,  except  Hardy ;  and  now  the  nervous  time  ap- 
proached. For  a  short  time  longer  the  three  sat  at  the 
wine-table,  while  the  squire  enlarged  upon  the  great  im- 
provement in  young  men,  and  the  habits  of  the  university, 
especially  in   the    matter   of  drinking.     Tom    had   only 


308  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFOKD. 

opened  three  bottles  of  port.  In  his  time  the  men  would 
have  drunk  certainly  not  less  than  a  bottle  a  man;  and 
other  like  remarks  he  made,  as  he  sipped  his  coffee,  and 
then,  pushing  back  his  chair,  said,  "  "Well,  Tom,  hadn't 
your  servant  better  clear  away  ?  and  then  we  can  draw 
round  the  fire,  and  have  a  talk." 

"  "Wouldn't  you  like  to  take  a  turn  while  he  is  clearing  ? 
There's  the  Martyr's  Memorial  you  haven't  seen." 

"  No,  thank  you.  I  know  the  place  well  enough.  I 
don't  come  to  walk  about  in  the  dark.  "We  sha'n't  be  in 
jour  man's  way." 

And  so  Tom's  scout  came  in  to  clear  away,  took  out  the 
extra  leaves  of  his  table,  put  on  the  cloth,  and  laid  tea. 
During  these  operations  Mr.  Brown  was  standing  with  his 
back  to  the  fire,  looking  about  him  as  he  talked:  when 
there  was  more  space  to  move  in,  he  began  to  walk  up 
and  down,  and  very  soon  took  to  remarking  the  furniture 
and  arrangements  of  the  room.  One  after  another  the 
pictures  came  under  his  notice,  —  most  of  them  escaped 
without  comment,  the  squire  simply  pausing  a  moment, 
and  then  taking  up  his  walk  again.  Magna  Charta  drew 
forth  his  hearty  approval.  It  was  a  capital  notion  to  hang 
such  things  on  your  walls,  instead  of  bad  prints  of  steeple- 
chases, or  trash  of  that  sort.  "  Ah,  here's  something  else 
of  the  same  kind.  Why,  Tom,  what's  this?"  said  the 
squire,  as  he  paused  before  the  death-warrant.  There 
was  a  moment  or  two  of  dead  silence,  while  the  squire's 
eye  ran  down  the  names,  from  Jo.  Bradshaw  to  Miles 
Corbet ;  and  then  he  turned,  and  came  and  sat  down  op- 
posite to  his  son.  Tom  expected  his  father  to  be  vexed, 
but  was  not  the  least  prepared  for  the  tone  of  pain  and 
sorrow  and  anger,  in  which  he  first  inquired,  and  then 
remonstrated. 

For  some  time  past  the  squire  and  his  son  had  not  felt 


TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  309 

so  comfortable  together  as  of  old.  Mr.  Brown  had  been 
annoyed  by  much  that  Tom  had  done  in  the  case  of  Harry 
Winburn,  though  he  did  not  know  all.  There  had  sprung 
up  a  barrier  somehow  or  other  between  them,  neither  of 
them  knew  how.  They  had  often  felt  embarrassed  at  be- 
ing left  alone  together  during  the  last  year,  and  found  that 
there  were  certain  topics  which  they  could  not  talk  upon, 
which  they  avoided  by  mutual  consent.  Every  now  and 
then  the  constraint  and  embarrassment  fell  off  for  a  short 
time,  for  at  bottom  they  loved  and  appreciated  one  another 
heartily  ;  but  the  divergences  in  their  thoughts  and  habits 
had  become  very  serious,  and  seemed  likely  to  increase 
rather  than  not.  They  felt  keenly  the  chasm  between  the 
two  generations ;  as  they  looked  at  one  another  from  the 
opposite  banks,  each  in  his  secret  heart  blamed  the  other 
in  great  measure  for  that  which  was  the  fault  of  neither. 
Mixed  with  the  longings  which  each  felt  for  a  better  un- 
derstanding was  enough  of  reserve  and  indignation  to  pre- 
vent them  from  coming  to  it.  The  discovery  of  their  dif- 
ferences was  too  recent,  and  they  were  too  much  alike  in 
character  and  temper  for  either  to  make  large  enough  al- 
lowances for,  or  to  be  really  tolerant  of,  the  other. 

This  was  the  first  occasion  on  which  they  had  come  to 
outspoken  and  serious  difference,  and,  though  the  collision 
had  been  exceedingly  painful  to  both,  yet,  when  they 
parted  for  the  night,  it  was  with  a  feeling  of  relief  that  the 
ijje  had  been  thoroughly  broken.  Before  his  father  left 
the  room,  Tom  had  torn  the  fac-simile  of  the  death-war- 
rant out  of  its  frame,  and  put  it  in  the  fire,  protesting, 
however,  at  the  same  time,  that,  though  "  he  did  this  out 
of  deference  to  his  father,  and  was  deeply  grieved  at  hav- 
ing given  him  pain,  he  could  not  and  would  not  give  up 
his  honest  convictions,  or  pretend  that  they  were  changed, 
or  even  shaken." 

The  squire  walked  back   to  his  hotel  deeply  moved. 


310  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

Who  can  wonder?  He  was  a  man  full  of  living  and  ve- 
hement convictions.  One  of  his  early  recollections  had 
been  the  arrival  in  England  of  the  news  of  the  beheading 
of  Louis  XVI.,  and  the  doings  of  the  reign  of  terror.  He 
had  been  bred  in  the  times  when  it  was  held  impossible 
for  a  gentleman  or  a  Christian  to  hold  such  views  as  his 
son  had  been  maintaining,  and,  like  many  of  the  noblest 
Englishmen  of  his  time,  had  gone  with  and  accepted  the 
creed  of  the  day. 

Tom  remained  behind,  dejected  and  melancholy ;  now 
accusing  his  father  of  injustice  and  bigotry,  now  longing  to 
go  after  him,  and  give  up  every  thing.  What  were  all 
his  opinions  and  convictions  compared  with  his  father's 
confidence  and  love  ?  At  breakfast  the  next  morning, 
however,  after  each  of  them  had  had  time  for  thinking 
over  what  had  passed,  they  met  with  a  cordiality  which 
was  as  pleasant  to  each  as  it  was  unlooked  for ;  and  from 
this  visit  of  his  father  to  him  at  Oxford  Tom  dated  a  new 
and  more  satisfactory  epoch  in  their  intercourse. 

The  fact  had  begun  to  dawn  on  the  squire  that  the 
world  had  changed  a  good  deal  since  his  time.  He  saw 
that  young  men  were  much  improved  in  some  ways,  and 
acknowledged  the  fact  heartily ;  on  the  other  hand,  they 
had  taken  up  with  a  lot  of  new  notions  which  he  could 
not  understand,  and  thought  mischievous  and  bad.  Per- 
haps Tom  might  get  over  them  as  he  got  to  be  older  and 
wiser,  and  in  the  mean  time  he  must  take  the  evil  with  tjje 
good.  At  any  rate,  he  was  too  fair  a  man  to  try  to  dra- 
goon his  son  out  of  any  thing  which  he  really  believed. 
Tom  on  his  part  gratefully  accepted  the  change  in  his 
father's  manner,  and  took  all  means  of  showing  his  grat- 
itude by  consulting  and  talking  freely  to  him  on  such  sub- 
jects as  they  could  agree  upon,  which  were  numerous, 
keeping  in  the  background  the  questions  which  had  pro- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  311 

voked  painful  discussions  between  them.  By  degrees  these 
even  could  be  tenderly  approached ;  and,  now,  that  they 
were  approached  in  a  different  spirit,  the  honest  beliefs  of 
the  father  and  son  no  longer  looked  so  monstrous  to  one 
another,  the  hard  and  sharp  outlines  began  to  wear  off, 
and  the  views  of  each  of  them  to  be  modified.  Thus,  bit 
by  bit,  by  a  slow  but  sure  process,  a  better  understanding 
than  ever  was  re-established  between  them. 

This  beginning  of  a  better  state  of  things  in  his  rela- 
tions with  his  father  consoled  Tom  for  many  other  matters 
that  seemed  to  go  wrong  with  him,  and  was  a  constant  bit 
of  bright  sky  to  turn  to  when  the  rest  of  his  horizon  looked 
dark  and  dreary,  as  it  did  often  enough. 

For  it  proved  a  very  trying  year  to  him,  this  his  third 
and  last  year  at  the  university  ;  a  year  full  of  large  dreams 
and  small  performances,  of  unfulfilled  hopes,  and  struggles 
to  set  himself  right,  ending  ever  more  surely  in  failure 
and  disappointment.  The  common  pursuits  of  the  place 
had  lost  their  freshness,  and  with  it  much  of  their  charm. 
He  was  beginning  to  feel  himself  in  a  cage,  and  to  beat 
against  the  bars  of  it. 

Often,  in  spite  of  all  his  natural  hopefulness,  his  heart 
seemed  to  sicken  and  turn  cold,  without  any  apparent 
reason  ;  his  old  pursuits  palled  on  him,  and  he  scarcely 
cared  to  turn  to  new  ones.  What  was  it  that  made  life 
so  blank  to  him  at  these  times  ?  How  was  it  that  he 
could  not  keep  the  spirit  within  him  alive  and  warm  ? 

It  was  easier  to  ask  such  questions  than  to  get  an 
answer.  Was  it  not  this  place  he  was  living  in,  and  the 
ways  of  it  ?  No,  for  the  place  and  its  ways  were  the 
same  as  ever,  and  his  own  way  of  life  in  it  better  than 
ever  before.  Was  it  the  want  of  sight  or  tidings  of  Mary  ? 
Sometimes  he  thought  so,  and  then  cast  the  thought  away 
as  treason.     His  love  for  her  was  ever  sinking  deeper 


312  TOM   BROWN    AT   OXFORD. 

into  him,  and  raising  and  purifying  him.  Light  and 
strength  and  life  came  from  that  source ;  craven  weari- 
ness and  coldness  of  heart,  come  from  whence  they  might, 
were  not  from  that  quarter.  But,  precious  as  his  love 
was  to  him,  and  deeply  as  it  affected  his  whole  life,  he 
felt  that  there  must  be  something  beyond  it  —  that  its  full 
satisfaction  would  not  be  enough  for  him.  The  bed  was 
too  narrow  for  a  man  to  stretch  himself  on.  What  he 
was  in  search  of  must  underlie  and  embrace  his  human 
love,  and  support  it.  Beyond  and  above  all  private  and 
personal  desires  and  hopes  and  longings  he  was  conscious 
of  a  restless  craving  and  feeling  about  after  something 
which  he  could  not  grasp,  and  yet  which  was  not  avoiding 
him,  which  seemed  to  be  mysteriously  laying  hold  of  him 
and  surrounding  him. 

The  routine  of  chapels  and  lectures  and  reading  for 
degree,  boating,  cricketing,  Union  debating  —  all  well 
enough  in  their  way — left  this  vacuum  unfilled.  There 
was  a  great  outer  visible  world,  the  problems  and  puzzles 
of  which  were  rising  before  him  and  haunting  him  more 
and  more  ;  and  a  great  inner  and  invisible  world  opening 
round  him  in  awful  depth.  He  seemed  to  be  standing  on 
the  brink  of  each  —  now,  shivering  and  helpless,  feeling 
like  an  atom,  about  to  be  whirled  into  the  great  flood  and 
carried  he  knew  not  where  —  now,  ready  to  plunge  in 
and  take  his  part,  full  of  hope  and  belief  that  he  was 
meant  to  buffet  in  the  strength  of  a  man  with  the  seen 
and  the  unseen,  and  to  be  subdued  by  neither. 

In  such  a  year  as  this  a  bit  of  steady,  bright,  blue  sky 
was  a  boon  beyond  all  price,  and  so  he  felt  it  to  be.  And 
it  was  not  only  with  his  father  that  Tom  regained  lost 
ground  in  this  year.  He  was  in  a  state  of  mind  in  which 
he  could  not  bear  to  neglect  or  lose  any  particle  of  human 
sympathy,  and  so  he  turned  to  old  friendships,  and  re- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  313 

vived  the  correspondence  with  several  of  his  old  school- 
fellows, and  particularly  with  Arthur,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  latter,  who  had  mourned  bitterly  over  the  few  half- 
yearly  lines,  all  he  had  got  from  Tom  of  late,  in  answer 
to  his  own  letters,  which  had  themselves,  under  the  weight 
of  neglect,  gradually  dwindled  down  to  mere  formal  mat- 
ters. A  specimen  of  the  later  correspondence  may  fitly 
close  the  chapter,  — 

"St.  Ambrose. 

"  Dear  Geordie, —  I  can  hardly  pardon  you  for  hav- 
ing gone  to  Cambridge,  though  you  have  got  a  Trinity 
scholarship  —  which  I  suppose  is,  on  the  whole,  quite  as 
good  a  thing  as  any  thing  of  the  sort  you  could  have  got 
up  here.  I  had  so  looked  forward  to  having  you  here 
though,  and  now  I  feel  that  we  shall  probably  scarcely 
ever  meet.  You  will  go  your  way  and  I  mine  ;  and  one 
alters  so  quickly,  and  gets  into  such  strange  new  grooves, 
that,  unless  one  sees  a  man  about  once  a  week  at  least, 
you  may  be  just  like  strangers  when  you  are  thrown  to- 
gether again.  If  you  had  come  up  here  it  would  have 
been  all  right,  and  we  should  have  gone  on  all  through 
life  as  we  were  when  I  left  school,  and  as  I  know  we 
should  be  again  in  no  time  if  you  had  come  here.  But 
now  who  can  tell? 

"  What  makes  me  think  so  much  of  this  is  a  visit  of  a 
few  days  that  East  paid  me  just  before  his  regiment  went 
to  India.  I  feel  that  if  he  hadn't  done  it,  and  we  had  not 
met  till  he  came  back,  —  years  hence  perhaps,  —  we 
should  never  have  been  to  one  another  what  we  shall  be 
now.  The  break  would  have  been  too  great.  Now  it's 
all  right.  You  would  have  so  liked  to  see  the  old  fellow 
grown  into  a- man,  but  not  a  bit  altered  —  just  the  quiet, 
old  way,  pooh  poohing  you,  and  pretending  to  care  for 
27 


314  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

nothing,  but  ready  to  cut  the  nose  off  his  face,  or  go 
through  fire  and  water  for  you  at  a  pinch  if  you'll  only 
let  him  go  his  own  way  about  it,  and  have  his  grumble, 
and  say  that  he  does  it  all  from  the  worst  possible  mo- 
tives. 

"But  we  must  try  not  to  lose  hold  of  one  another, 
Geordie.  It  would  be  a  bitter  day  to  me  if  I  thought 
any  thing  of  the  kind  could  ever  happen  again.  We 
must  write  more  to  one  another.  I've  been  awfully  lazy, 
I  know,  about  it  for  this  last  year  and  more ;  but  then  I 
always  thought  you  would  be  coming  up  here,  and  so  that 
it  didn't  matter  much.  But  now  I  will  turn  over  a  new 
leaf,  and  write  to  you  about  '  my  secret  thoughts,  my 
works,  and  ways ; '  and  you  must  do  it  too.  If  we  can 
only  tide  over  the  next  year  or  two  we  shall  get  into 
plain  sailing,  and  I  suppose  it  will  all  go  right  then.  At 
least,  I  can't  believe  that  one  is  likely  to  have  many  such 
up-and-down  years  in  one's  life  as  the  last  two.  If  one  is, 
goodness  knows  where  I  shall  end.  You  know  the  out- 
line of  what  has  happened  to  me  from  my  letters,  and  the 
talks  we  have  had  in  my  flying  visits  to  the  old  school ; 
but  you  haven't  a  notion  of  the  troubles  of  mind  I've  been 
in,  and  the  changes  I've  gone  through.  I  can  hardly  be- 
lieve it  myself  when  I  look  back.  However,  I'm  quite 
sure  I  have  got  on ;  that's  my  great  comfort.  It  is  a 
strange  blind  sort  of  world,  that's  a  fact,  with  lots  of  blind 
alleys,  down  which  you  go  blundering  in  the  fog  after 
some  seedy  gaslight,  which  you  take  for  the  sun  till  you 
run  against  the  wall  at  the  end,  and  find  out  that  the  light 
is  a  gaslight,  and  that  there's  no  thoroughfare.  But  for 
all  that  one  does  get  on.  You  get  to  know  the  sun's  light 
better  and  better,  and  to  keep  out  of  the  blind  alleys ; 
and  I  am  surer  and  surer  every  day,  that  there's  always 
sunlight  enough  for  every  honest  fellow, —  though  I  didn't 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  315 

think  so  a  few  months  back,  —  and  a  good  uound  road 
under  his  feet,  if  he  will  only  step  out  on  it. 

"  Talking  of  blind  alleys  puts  me  in  mind  of  your  last. 
Aren't  you  going  down  a  blind  alley,  or  something  worse  ? 
There's  no  wall  to  bring  you  up,  that  I  can  see,  down  the 
turn  you've  taken  ;  and  then,  what's  the  practical  use  of 
it  all  ?  What  good  would  you  do  to  yourself,  or  any  one 
else,  if  you  could  get  to  the  end  of  it  ?  I  can't  for  the 
life  of  me  fancy,  I  confess,  what  you  think  will  come  of 
speculating  about  necessity  and  free  will.  I  only  know 
that  I  can  hold  out  my  hand  before  me,  and  can  move  it 
to  the  right  or  left,  despite  of  all  powers  in  heaven  or 
earth.  As  I  sit  here  writing  to  you  I  can  let  into  my 
heart,  and  give  the  reins  to,  all  sorts  of  devils'  passions, 
or  to  the  spirit  of  God.  Well,  that's  enough  for  me.  I 
know  it  of  myself,  and  I  believe  you  know  it  of  yourself, 
and  everybody  knows  it  of  themselves  or  himself;  and 
why  you  can't  be  satisfied  with  that,  passes  my  compre- 
hension. As  if  one  hasn't  got  puzzles  enough,  and  both- 
ers enough,  under  one's  nose,  without  going  a-field  after  a 
lot  of  metaphysical  quibbles.  No,  I'm  wrong,  —  not 
going  a-field,  —  any  thing  one  has  to  go  a-field  for  is  all 
right.  What  a  fellow  meets  outside  himself  he  isn't  re- 
sponsible for,  and  must  do  the  best  he  can  with.  But  to 
go  ou  forever  looking  inside  of  one's  self,  and  groping 
about  amongst  one's  own  sensations  and  ideas  and  whim- 
sies of  one  kind  and  another,  I  can't  conceive  a  poorer  line 
of  business  than  that.  Don't  you  get  into  it  now,  that's  a 
dear  boy. 

"  Very  likely  you'll  tell  me  you  can't  help  it ;  that 
every  one  has  his  own  difficulties,  and  must  fight  them 
out,  and  that  mine  are  one  sort,  and  yours  another.  Well, 
perhaps  you  may  be  right.  I  hope  I'm  getting  to  know 
that  my  plummet  isn't  to  measure  all  the  world.     But  it 


316  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

does  seem  a  pity  that  men  shouldn't  be  thinking  about 
how  to  cure  some  of  the  wrongs  which  poor  dear  old 
England  is  pretty  near  dying  of,  instead  of  taking  the 
edge  off  their  brains,  and  spending  all  their  steam  in 
speculating  about  all  kinds  of  things,  which  wouldn't 
make  any  poor  man  in  the  world  —  or  rich  one  either, 
for  that  matter  —  a  bit  better  off,  if  they  were  all  found 
out,  and  settled  to-morrow.  But  here  I  am  at  the  end  of 
my  paper.  Don't  be  angry  at  my  jobation  ;  but  write  me 
a  long  answer  of  your  own  free  will,  and  believe  me  ever 
affectionately  yours,  T.  B." 


CHAPTER  XX. 


AFTERNOON    VISITORS. 


Miss  Mart  Porter  was  sitting  alone  in  the  front 
drawing-room  of  her  father's  house,  in  Belgravia,  on  the 
afternoon  of  a  summer's  day  in  this  same  year.  Two 
years  and  more  have  passed  over  her  head  since  we  first 
met  her,  and  she  may  be  a  thought  more  sedate  and  bet- 
ter dressed,  but  there  is  no  other  change  to  he  noticed  in 
her.  The  room  was  for  the  most  part  much  like  other 
rooms  in  that  quarter  of  the  world.  There  were  few  lux- 
uries in  the  way  of  furniture  which  fallen  man  can  desire 
which  were  not  to  be  found  there ;  but,  over  and  above 
this,  there  was  an  elegance  in  the  arrangement  of  all  the 
knick-knacks  and  ornaments,  and  an  appropriateness  and 
good  taste  in  the  placing  of  every  piece  of  furniture  and 
vase  of  flowers,  which  showed  that  a  higher  order  of  mind 
than  the  upholsterer's  or  housemaid's  was  constantly  over- 
looking and  working  there.  Every  thing  seemed  to  be  in 
its  exact  place,  in  the  best  place  which  could  have  been 
thought  of  for  it,  and  to  be  the  best  thing  which  could 
have  been  thought  of  for  the  place  ;  and  yet  this  perfec- 
tion did  not  strike  you  particularly  at  first,  or  surprise 
you  in  any  way,  but  sank  into  you  gradually,  so  that, 
until  you  forced  yourself  to  consider  the  matter,  you 
could  not  in  the  least  say  why  the  room  had  such  a  very 
pleasant  effect  on  you. 

The  young  lady  to  whom  this  charm  was  chiefly  owing 
was  sitting  by  a  buhl  work-table,  on  which  lay  her  em- 
27* 


t 

318  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

broidery  and  a  book.  She  was  reading  a  letter,  which 
seemed  deeply  to  interest  her ;  for  she  did  not  hear  the 
voice  of  the  butler,  who  had  just  opened  the  door  and  dis- 
turbed her  solitude,  until  he  had  repeated  for  the  second 
time,  "Mr.  Smith."  Then  Mary  jumped  up,  and,  hastily 
folding  her  letter,  put  it  into  her  pocket.  She  was  rather 
provoked  at  having  allowed  herself  to  be  caught  there 
alone  by  afternoon  visitors,  and  with  the  servants  for  hav- 
ing let  any  one  in ;  nevertheless,  she  welcomed  Mr. 
Smith  with  a  cordiality  of  manner  which  perhaps  ratber 
more  than  represented  her  real  feelings,  and,  with  a  "  let 
mamma  know,"  to  the  butler,  set  to  work  to  entertain  her 
visitor.  She  would  have  had  no  difficulty  in  doing  this 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  as  all  that  Mr.  Smith 
wanted  was  a  good  hstener.  He  was  a  somewhat  heavy 
and  garrulous  old  gentleman,  with  many  imaginary,  and 
a  few  real,  troubles,  the  constant  contemplation  of  which 
served  to  occupy  the  whole  of  his  own  time,  and  as  much 
of  his  friends'  as  he  could  get  them  to  give  him.  But 
scarcely  had  he  settled  himself  comfortably  in  an  easy- 
chair  opposite  to  his  victim,  when  the  butler  entered 
again,  and  announced  "  Mr.  St.  Cloud." 

Mary  was  now  no  longer  at  her  ease.  Her  manner  of 
receiving  her  new  visitor  was  constrained ;  and  yet  it  was 
clear  that  he  was  on  easy  terms  in  the  house.  She  asked 
the  butler  where  his  mistress  was,  and  heard  with  vexa- 
tion that  she  had  gone  out,  but  was  expected  home  almost 
immediately.  Charging  him  to  let  her  mother  know  the 
moment  she  returned,  Mary  turned  to  her  unwelcome 
task,  and  sat  herself  down  again  with  such  resignation  as 
she  was  capable  of  at  the  moment.  The  conduct  of  her 
visitors  was  by  no  means  calculated  to  restore  her  com- 
posure, or  make  her  comfortable  between  them.  She 
was  sure  that  they  knew  one  another ;  but  neither  of  them 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  319 

would  speak  to  the  other.  There  the  two  sat  on,  each 
resolutely  bent  on  tiring  the  other  out;  the  elder  crooning 
on  to  her  in  an  undertone,  and  ignoring  the  younger,  who 
in  his  turn  put  on  an  air  of  serene  unconsciousness  of  the 
presence  of  his  senior,  and  gazed  about  the  room,  and 
watched  Mary,  making  occasional  remarks  to  her  as  if  no 
one  else  were  present.  On  and  on  they  sat,  her  only 
comfort  being  the  hope  that  neither  of  them  would  have 
the  conscience  to  stay  on  after  the  departure  of  the  other. 

Between  them  Mary  was  driven  to  her  wits'  end,  and 
looked  for  her  mother  or  for  some  new  visitor  to  come  to 
her  help,  as  Wellington  looked  for  the  Prussians  on  the 
afternoon  of  June  18th.  At  last  youth  and  insolence  pre- 
vailed, and  Mr.  Smith  rose  to  go.  Mary  got  up  too,  and 
after  his  departure  remained  standing,  in  hopes  that  her 
other  visitor  would  take  the  hint  and  follow  the  good  ex- 
ample. But  St.  Cloud  had  not  the  least  intention  of 
moving. 

"  Really,  your  good-nature  is  quite  astonishing,  Miss 
Porter,"  he  said,  leaning  forwards  with  his  elbows  on  his 
knees,  and  following  the  pattern  of  one  of  the  flowers  on 
the  carpet  with  his  cane,  which  gave  him  the  opportunity 
of  showing  his  delicately  gloved  hand  to  advantage. 

"  Indeed,  why  do  you  think  so  ?  "  she  asked  ;  taking  up 
her  embroidery,  and  pretending  to  begin  working. 

"  Have  I  not  got  good  reason,  after  sitting  this  half- 
hour  and  seeing  you  enduring  old  Smith  —  the  greatest 
bore  in  London?  I  don't  believe  there  are  three  houses 
where  the  servants  dare  let  him  in.  It  would  be  as  much 
as  their  places  were  worth.  No  porter  could  hope  for  a 
character  who  let  him  in  twice  in  the  season." 

'•  Poor  Mr.  Smith,"  said  Mary,  smiling.  "  But  you 
know  we  have  no  porter,  and,"  she  suddenly  checked  her- 


S20  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

self,  and  added,  gravely,  "  he  is  an  old  friend,  and  papa 
and  mamma  like  him." 

"  But  the  wearisomeness  of  his  grievances  !  those  three 
sons  in  the  Plungers,  and  their  eternal  scrapes !  How 
you  could  manage  to  keep  a  civil  face  !  It  was  a  master- 
piece of  polite  patience." 

"  Indeed,  I  am  very  sorry  for  his  troubles.  I  wonder 
where  mamma  can  be  ?  We  are  going  to  drive.  Shall 
you  be  in  the  Park  ?  I  think  it  must  be  time  for  me  to 
dress." 

"  I  hope  not.  It  is  so  seldom  that  I  see  you,  except  in 
crowded  rooms.  Can  you  wonder  that  I  should  value 
such  a  chance  as  this  ?  " 

"  Were  you  at  the  new  opera  last  night  ?  "  asked  Mary, 
carefully  avoiding  his  eye,  and  sticking  to  her  work,  but 
scarcely  able  to  conceal  her  nervousness  and  discomfort. 

"  Yes,  I  was  there ;  but  —  " 

"  Oh,  do  tell  me  about  it,  then  ;  I  hear  it  was  a  great 
success." 

"  Another  time.  We  can  talk  of  the  opera  anywhere. 
Let  me  speak  now  of  something  else.  You  must  have 
seen,  Miss  Porter  —  " 

"  How  can  you  think  I  will  talk  of  any  thing  till  you 
have  told  me  about  the  opera  ? "  interrupted  Mary, 
rapidly  and  nervously.  "Was  Grisi  very  fine?  The 
chief  part  was  composed  for  her,  was  it  not  ?  and  dear 
old  Lablache  —  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  presently  if  you  will  let  me, 
in  five  minutes'  time  —  I  only  ask  for  five  minutes  —  " 

"Five  minutes!  Oh,  no,  not  five  seconds.  I  must 
hear  about  the  new  opera  before  I  will  listen  to  a  word 
of  any  thing  else." 

"  Indeed,  Miss  Porter,  you  must  pardon  me  for  diso- 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  321 

beying.  But  I  may  not  have  such  a  chance  as  this  again 
for  months." 

With  which  prelude  he  drew  his  chair  towards  he?s, 
and  Mary  was  just  trying  to  make  up  her  mind  to  jump 
up  and  run  right  out  of  the  room,  when  the  door  opened, 
and  the  butler  walked  in  with  a  card  on  a  waiter.  Mary 
bad  never  felt  so  relieved  in  her  life,  and  could  bave 
hugged  tbe  solemn  old  domestic  when  he  said,  presenting 
the  card  to  her,  — 

"  Tbe  gentleman  asked  if  Mrs.  or  you  were  in,  Miss, 
and  told  me  to  bring  it  up,  and  find  whether  you  would 
see  him  on  business.  A  clergyman,  I  think,  Miss.  He's 
waiting  in  the  hall." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  know.  Of  course.  Yes,  say  I  will  see  him 
directly.     I  mean,  ask  him  to  come  up  now." 

"  Sball  I  show  him  into  tbe  library,  Miss  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  in  here  ;  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Miss,"  replied  the  butler,  with  a  deprecatory 
look  at  St.  Cloud,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  You  see  I  can't 
help  it,"  in  answer  to  his  impatient  telegraphic  signals. 
St.  Cloud  had  been  very  liberal  to  the  Porters'  servants. 

Mary's  confidence  had  all  come  back.  Relief  was  at 
band.  She  could  trust  herself  to  hold  St.  Cloud  at  bay 
now,  as  it  could  not  be  for  more  than  a  few  minutes.  When 
she  turned  to  him  the  nervousness  had  quite  gone  out  of 
her  manner,  and  she  spoke  in  her  old  tone  again,  as  she 
laid  her  embroidery  aside. 

"  How  lucky  that  you  should  be  here.  Look  ;  I  think 
you  must  be  acquainted,"  she  said,  holding  out  the  card 
which  the  butler  had  given  her  to  St.  Cloud. 

He  took  it  mechanically,  and  looked  at  it,  and  then 
crushed  it  in  his  hand,  and  was  going  to  speak.  She  pre- 
vented him. 

"  I  was  right,  I'm  sure.     You  do  know  him  ?  " 


322  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

"  I  didn't  see  the  name,"  he  said,  almost  fiercely. 

"  The  name  on  the  card  which  I  gave  you  just  now  ?  — * 
Mr.  Grey.  He  is  curate  in  one  of  the  poor  Westminster 
districts.  You  must  remember  him,  for  he  was  of  your 
college.  He  was  at  Oxford  with  you.  I  made  his  ac- 
quaintance at  the  Commemoration.  He  will  be  so  glad  to 
meet  an  old  friend." 

St.  Cloud  was  too  much  provoked  to  answer ;  and  the 
next  moment  the  door  opened,  and  the  butler  announced 
Mr.  Grey. 

Grey  came  into  the  room  timidly,  carrying  his  head  a 
little  down  as  usual,  and  glancing  uncomfortably  about  in 
the  manner  which  used  to  make  Drysdale  say  that  he  al- 
ways looked  as  though  he  had  just  been  robbing  a  hen- 
roost. Mary  went  forward  to  meet  him,  holding  out  her 
hand  cordially. 

"  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,"  she  said.  "  How  kind  of 
you  to  call  when  you  are  so  busy !  Mamma  will  be  here 
directly.  I  think  you  must  remember  Mr.  St.  Cloud,  Mr. 
Grey?" 

St.  Cloud's  patience  was  now  quite  gone.  He  drew 
himself  up,  making  the  slightest  possible  inclination  tow- 
ards Grey,  and  then,  without  taking  any  further  notice  of 
him,  turned  to  Mary,  with  a  look  which  he  meant  to  be 
full  of  pitying  admiration  for  her,  and  contempt  of  her 
visitor ;  but,  as  she  would  not  look  at  him,  it  was  thrown 
away.  So  he  made  his  bow  and  stalked  out  of  the  room, 
angrily  debating  with  himself,  as  he  went  down  the  stairs, 
whether  she  could  have  understood  him.  He  was  so  fully 
convinced  of  the  sacrifice  which  a  man  in  his  position  was 
making  in  paying  serious  attentions  to  a  girl  with  little 
fortune  and  no  connection,  that  he  soon  consoled  himself 
in  the  belief  that  her  embarrassment  only  arose  from  shy- 
ness, and  that  the  moment  he  could  explain  himself  she 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  323 

would  be  his  obedient  and  grateful  servant.  Meantime, 
Mary  sat  down  opposite  to  the  curate,  and  listened  to  him 
as  he  unfolded  his  errand  awkwardly  enough.  An  execu- 
tion was  threatened  in  the  house  of  a  poor  struggling 
widow,  whom  Mrs.  Porter  had  employed  to  do  needle- 
work occasionally,  and  who  was  behind  with  her  rent 
through  sickness.  He  was  afraid  that  her  things  would 
be  taken  and  sold  in  the  morning,  unless  she  should  bor- 
row two  sovereigns.  He  had  so  many  claims  on  him  that 
he  could  not  lend  her  the  money  himself,  and  so  had  come 
out  to  see  what  he  could  do  amongst  those  who  knew  her. 

By  the  time  Grey  had  arrived  at  the  end  of  his  story, 
Mary  had  made  up  her  mind  —  not  without  a  little  strug- 
gle —  to  sacrifice  the  greater  part  of  what  was  left  of  her 
quarter's  allowance.  After  all,  it  would  only  be  wearing 
cleaned  gloves  instead  of  new  ones,  and  giving  up  her  new 
riding-hat  till  next  quarter.  So  she  jumped  up,  and  said 
gayly,  "  Is  that  all,  Mr.  Grey  ?  I  have  the  money,  and  I 
will  lend  it  her  with  pleasure.  I  will  fetch  it  directly." 
She  tripped  off  to  her  room,  and  soon  came  back  with  the 
money  ;  and  just  then  the  butler  came  in  with  tea,  and 
Mary  asked  Mr.  Grey  to  take  some.  He  looked  tired, 
she  said,  and  if  he  would  wait  a  little  time,  he  would  see 
her  mother,  who  would  be  sure  to  do  something  more  for 
the  poor  woman. 

Grey  had  got  up  to  leave,  and  was  standing,  hat  in 
hand,  ready  to  go.  He  was  in  the  habit  of  reckoning  with 
himself  strictly  for  every  minute  of  his  day,  and  was  never 
quite  satisfied  with  himself  unless  he  was  doing  the  most 
disagreeable  thing  which  circumstances  for  the  time  being 
allowed  him  to  do.  But  greater  and  stronger  men  than 
Grey,  from  Adam  downwards,  have  yielded  to  the  temp- 
tation before  which  he  now  succumbed.  He  looked  out 
of  the  corners  of  his  eyes ;  and  there  was  something  so 


?24  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFOKD. 

fresh  and  bright  in  the  picture  of  the  dainty  little  tea-ser- 
vice and  the  young  lady  behind  it,  the  tea  which  she  was 
beginning  to  pour  out  smelt  so  refreshing,  and  her  hand 
stnd  figure  looked  so  pretty  in  the  operation,  that,  with  a 
sigh  to  departing  resolution,  he  gave  in,  put  his  hat  on  the 
floor,  and  sat  down  opposite  to  the  tempter. 

Grey  took  a  cup  of  tea,  and  then  another.  He  thought 
he  had  never  tasted  any  thing  so  good.  The  delicious 
rich  cream,  and  the  tempting  plate  of  bread  and  butter, 
were  too  much  for  him.  He  fairly  gave  way,  and  re- 
signed himself  to  physical  enjoyment,  and  sipped  his  tea, 
and  looked  over  his  cup  at  Mary,  sitting  there  bright  and 
kind,  and  ready  to  go  on  pouring  out  for  him  to  any  ex- 
tent. It  seemed  to  him  as  if  an  atmosphere  of  light  and 
joy  surrounded  her,  within  the  circle  of  which  he  was  sit- 
ting and  absorbing.  Tea  was  the  only  stimulant  that  Grey 
ever  took,  and  he  had  more  need  of  it  than  usual,  for  he 
had  given  away  the  chop,  which  was  his  ordinary  dinner, 
to  a  starving  woman.  He  was  faint  with  fasting  and  the 
bad  air  of  the  hovels  in  which  he  had  been  spending  his 
morning.  The  elegance  of  the  room,  the  smell  of  the 
flowers,  the  charm  of  companionship  with  a  young  woman 
of  his  own  rank,  and  the  contrast  of  the  whole  to  his  com- 
mon way  of  life,  carried  him  away,  and  hopes  and  thoughts 
began  to  creep  into  his  head  to  which  he  had  long  been  a 
stranger.  Mary  did  her  very  best  to  make  his  visit  pleas- 
ant to  him.  She  had  a  great  respect  for  the  self-denying 
life  which  she  knew  he  was  leading ;  and  the  nervousness 
and  shyness  of  his  manners  were  of  a  kind,  which,  instead 
of  infecting  her,  gave  her  confidence,  and  made  her  feel 
quite  at  her  ease  with  him.  She  was  so  grateful  to  him 
for  having  delivered  her  out  of  her  recent  embarrassment, 
that  she  was  more  than  usually  kind  in  her  manner. 

She  saw  how  he  was  enjoying  himself,  and  thought 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  325 

what  good  it  must  do  him  to  forget  his  usual  occupations 
for  a  short  time.  So  she  talked  positive  gossip  to  him, 
asked  his  opinion  on  riding-habits,  and  very  soon  was  tell- 
ing him  the  plot  of  a  new  novel  which  she  had  just  been 
reading,  with  an  animation  and  playfulness  which  would 
have  warmed  the  heart  of  an  anchorite.  For  a  short 
quarter  of  an  hour  Grey  resigned  himself;  but  at  the  end 
of  that  time  he  became  suddenly  and  painfully  conscious 
of  what  he  was  doing,  and  stopped  himself  short  in  the 
middle  of  an  altogether  worldly  compliment,  which  he  de- 
tected himself  in  the  act  of  paying  to  his  too  fascinating 
young  hostess.  He  felt  that  retreat  was  his  only  chance, 
and  so  grasped  his  hat  again,  and  rose  with  a  deep  sigh, 
and  a  sudden  change  of  manner  which  alarmed  Mary. 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Grey,"  she  said,  anxiously,  "  I  hope  you 
are  not  ill  ?  " 

"No,  not  the  least,  thank  you.  But  —  but  —  in  short, 
I  must  go  to  my  work.  I  ought  to  apologize,  indeed,  for 
having  stayed  so  long." 

"  Oh,  you  have  not  been  here  more  than  twenty  min- 
utes. Pray  stay,  and  see  mamma ;  she  must  be  in  di- 
rectly." 

"  Thank  you  ;  you  are  very  kind.  I  should  like  it  very 
much,  but  indeed,  I  cannot." 

Mary  felt  that  it  would  be  no  kindness  to  press  it  fur- 
ther, and  so  rose  herself,  and  held  out  her  hand.  Grey 
took  it,  and  it  is  not  quite  certain  to  this  day  whether  he 
did  not  press  it  in  that  farewell  shake  more  than  was  ab- 
solutely necessary.  If  he  did,  we  may  be  quite  sure  that  he 
administered  exemplary  punishment  to  himself  afterwards 
for  so  doing.  He  would  gladly  have  left  now,  but  his 
over-sensitive  conscience  forbade  it.  He  had  forgotten 
his  office,  he  thought,  hitherto,  but  there  was  time  yet  not 
28 


326  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

to  be  altogether  false  to  it.  So  he  looked  grave  and  shy 
again,  and  said,  — 

"  You  will  not  be  offended  with  me,  Miss  Porter,  if  I 
speak  to  you  as  a  clergyman  ?  " 

Mary  was  a  little  disconcerted,  but  answered  almost 
immediately,  — 

"  Oh,  no.  Pray  say  any  thing  which  you  think  you 
ought  to  say." 

"  I  am  afraid  there  must  be  a  great  temptation  in  liv- 
ing always  in  beautiful  rooms  like  this,  with  no  one  but 
prosperous  people.     Do  you  not  think  so  ?" 

"  But  one  cannot  help  it.  Surely,  Mr.  Grey,  you  do 
not  think  it  can  be  wrong?  " 

"  No,  not  wrong.  But  it  must  be  very  trying.  It 
must  be  very  necessary  to  do  something  to  lessen  the 
temptation  of  such  a  life." 

"  I  do  not  understand  you.     What  could  one  do  ?  " 

"  Might  you  not  take  up  some  work  which  would  not 
be  pleasant,  such  as  visiting  the  poor  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  very  glad ;  but  we  do  not  know  any 
poor  people  in  London." 

"  There  are  very  miserable  districts  near  here." 

"  Yes,  and  papa  and  mamma  are  very  kind,  I  know,  in 
helping  whenever  they  can  hear  of  a  proper  case.  But 
it  is  so  different  from  the  country.  There  it  is  so  easy 
and  pleasant  to  go  into  the  cottages  where  every  one 
knows  you,  and  most  of  the  people  work  for  papa,  and 
one  is  sure  of  being  welcomed,  and  that  nobody  will  be 
rude.  But  here  I  should  be  afraid.  It  would  seem  so 
impertinent  to  go  to  people's  houses  of  whom  one  knows 
nothing.     I  should  never  know  what  to  say." 

"  It  is  not  easy  or  pleasant  duty  which  is  the  best  for 
us.  Great  cities  could  never  be  evangelized,  Miss  Por- 
ter, if  all  ladies  thought  as  you  do." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  827 

"  I  think,  Mr.  Grey,"  said  Mary,  rather  nettled,  "  that 
every  one  has  not  the  gift  of  lecturing  the  poor,  and  set- 
ting them  right ;  and,  if  they  have  not,  they  had  better 
not  try  to  do  it.  And  as  for.  all  the  rest,  there  is  plenty 
of  the  same  kind  of  work  to  be  done,  I  believe,  amongst 
the  people  of  one's  own  class." 

"You  are  joking,  Miss  Porter." 

"  No,  I  am  not  joking  at  all.  I  believe  that  rich  peo- 
ple are  quite  as  unhappy  as  poor.  Their  troubles  are 
not  the  same,  of  course,  and  are  generally  of  their  own 
making.  But  troubles  of  the  mind  are  worse,  surely, 
than  troubles  of  the  body  ?  " 

"  Certainly ;  and  it  is  the  highest  work  of  the  ministry 
to  deal  with  spiritual  trials.  But,  you  will  pardon  me  for 
saying  that  I  cannot  think  this  is  the  proper  work  for  — 
for  —  " 

"  For  me,  you  would  say.  We  must  be  speaking  of 
quite  different  things,  I  am  sure.  I  only  mean  that  I  can 
listen  to  the  troubles  and  grievances  of  any  one  who  likes 
to  talk  of  them  to  me,  and  try  to  comfort  them  a  little, 
and  to  make  things  look  brighter,  and  to  keep  cheerful. 
It  is  not  easy  always  even  to  do  this." 

"  It  is  not,  indeed.  But  would  it  not  be  easier  if  you 
could  do  as  I  suggest  ?  Going  out  of  one's  own  class,  and 
trying  to  care  for  and  to  help  the  poor,  braces  the  mind 
more  than  any  thing  else." 

"  You  ought  to  know  my  Cousin  Katie,"  said  Mary, 
glad  to  make  a  diversion  ;  "  that  is  just  what  she  would 
say.  Indeed,  I  think  you  must  have  seen  her  at  Oxford ; 
did  you  not  ?  " 

"  I  believe  I  had  the  honor  of  meeting  her  at  the  rooms 
of  a  friend.     I  think  he  said  she  was  also  a  cousin  of  his." 

"  Mr.  Brown,  you  mean  ?     Yes  ;  did  you  know  him  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     You  will   think   it   strange,  as   we  are   so 


328  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

very  unlike ;  but  I  knew  him  better  than  I  knew  almost 
any  one." 

"  Poor  Katie  is  very  anxious  about  him.  I  hcpe  you 
thought  well  of  him.  You  do  not  think  he  is  likely  to  go 
very  wrong  ?  " 

"  No,  indeed.  I  could  wish  he  were  sounder  on 
Church  questions,  but  that  may  come.  Do  you  know 
that  he  is  in  London  ?  " 

"  I  had  heard  so." 

"  He  has  been  several  times  to  my  schools.  He  used 
to  help  me  at  Oxford,  and  has  a  capital  way  with  the 
boys." 

At  this  moment  the  clock  on  the  mantelpiece  struck  a 
quarter.  The  sound  touched  some  chord  in  Grey  which 
made  him  grasp  his  hat  again,  and  prepare  for  another 
attempt  to  get  away. 

"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  — "  He  pulled  himself  up 
short,  in  the  fear  lest  he  were  going  again  to  be  false  (as 
he  deemed  it)  to  his  calling,  and  stood  the  picture  of  ner- 
vous discomfort. 

Mary  came  to  his  relief.  "  I  am  sorry  you  must  go, 
Mr.  Grey,"  she  said  ;  "  I  should  so  like  to  have  talked  to 
you  more  about  Oxford.  You  will  call  again  soon,  I 
hope  ?  " 

At  which  last  speech  Grey,  casting  an  imploring  glance 
at  her,  muttered  something  which  she  could  not  catch, 
and  fled  from  the  room. 

Mary  stood  looking  dreamily  out  of  the  window  for  a 
few  minutes,  till  the  entrance  of  her  mother  roused  her, 
and  she  turned  to  pour  out  a  cup  of  tea  for  her. 

"  It  is  cold,  mamma  dear ;  do  let  me  make  some 
fresh." 

"  No,  thank  you,  dear ;  this  will  do  very  well,"  said 
Mrs.  Porter ;  and  she  took  off  her  bonnet  and  sipped  the 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  329 

cold  tea.  Mary  watched  her  silently  for  a  minute,  and 
then,  taking  the  letter  she  had  been  reading,  out  of  her 
pocket,  said,  — 

"  I  have  a  letter  from  Katie,  mamma." 

Mrs.  Porter  took  the  letter  and  read  it ;  and,  as  Mary 
still  watched,  she  saw  a  puzzled  look  coming  over  her 
mother's  face.  Mrs.  Porter  finished  the  letter,  and  then 
looked  stealthily  at  Mary,  who  on  her  side  was  now 
busily  engaged  in  putting  up  the  tea-things. 

"  It  is  very  embarrassing,"  said  Mrs.  Porter. 

"  What,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Oh,  of  course,  my  dear,  I  mean  of  Katie's  telling  us 
of  her  cousin's  being  in  London,  and  sending  us  his  ad- 
dress — "  and  then  she  paused. 

"  Why,  mamma  ?  " 

"  Your  papa  will  have  to  make  up  his  mind  whether  he 
will  ask  him  to  the  house.  Katie  would  surely  never 
have  told  him  that  she  has  written." 

"  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  were  so  very  kind.  It  would 
seem  so  strange,  so  ungrateful,  not  even  to  ask  him." 

"  I  am  afraid  he  is  not  the  sort  of  young  man  —  in 
short,  I  must  speak  to  your  papa." 

Mrs.  Porter  looked  hard  at  her  daughter,  who  was  still 
busied  with  the  tea-things.  She  had  risen,  bonnet  in 
hand,  to  leave  the  room ;  but  now  changed  her  mind, 
and,  crossing  to  her  daughter,  put  her  arm  round  her 
neck.  Mary  looked  up  steadily  into  her  eyes,  then 
blushed  slightly,  and  said,  quietly,  — 

"  No,  mamma ;  indeed  it  is  not  as  you  think." 

Her  mother  stooped  and  kissed  her,  and  left  the  room, 
telling  her  to  get  dressed,  as  the  carriage  would  be  round 
in  a  few  minutes. 

Her  trials  for  the  day  were  not  over.  She  could  see 
by  their  manner  at  dinner  that  her  father  and  mother  had 
28* 


330  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

been  talking  about  ber.  Her  father  took  her  to  a  ball  in 
the  evening,  where  they  met  St.  Cloud,  who  fastened  him- 
self to  them.  She  was  dancing  a  quadrille,  and  her  father 
stood  near  her,  talking  confidentially  to  St.  Cloud.  In  the 
intervals  of  the  dance  scraps  of  their  conversation  reached 
her. 

"  You  knew  him,  then,  at  Oxford  ?  " 

"  Yes,  very  slightly." 

"  I  should  like  to  ask  you  now,  as  a  friend  —  "  Here 
Mary's  partner  reminded  her  that  she  ought  to  be  danc- 
ing. When  she  had  returned  to  her  place  again  she 
heard  — 

"  You  think,  then,  that  it  was  a  bad  business  ?  " 

"  It  was  notorious  in  the  college.  We  never  had  any 
doubt  on  the  subject." 

"  My  niece  has  told  Mrs.  Porter  that  there  really  was 
nothing  wrong  in  it." 

"  Indeed  ?     I  am  happy  to  hear  it." 

"  I  should  like  to  think  well  of  him,  as  he  is  a  connec- 
tion of  my  wife.  In  other  respects  now  — "  Here  again 
she  was  carried  away  by  the  dance,  and,  when  she  re- 
turned, caught  the  end  of  a  sentence  of  St.  Cloud's,  "  You 
will  consider  what  I  have  said  in  confidence." 

"  Certainly,"  answered  Mr.  Porter ;  "  and  I  am  exceed- 
ingly obliged  to  you  ;  "  and  then  the  dance  was  over,  and 
Mary  returned  to  her  father's  side.  She  had  never  en- 
joyed a  ball  less  than  this,  and  persuaded  her  father  to 
leave  early,  which  he  was  delighted  to  do. 

When  she  reached  her  own  room  Mary  took  off  her 
wreath  and  ornaments,  and  then  sat  down  and  fell  into  a 
brown  study,  which  lasted  for  some  time.  At  last  she 
roused  herself  with  a  sigh,  and  thought  she  had  never  had 
so  tiring  a  day,  though  she  could  hardly  tell  why,  and  felt 
half  inclined  to  have  a  good  cry,  if  she  could  only  have 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  331 

made  up  her  mind  what  about.  However,  being  a  sen- 
sible young  woman,  she  resisted  the  temptation,  and, 
hardly  taking  the  trouble  to  roll  up  her  hair,  went  to  bed 
and  slept  soundly. 

Mr.  Porter  found  his  wife  sitting  up  for  him  ;  they  were 
evidently  both  full  of  the  same  subject. 

"  Well,  dear  ?  "  she  said,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

Mr.  Porter  put  down  his  candle,  and  shook  his  head. 

"  You  don't  think  Katie  can  be  right,  then  ?  She  must 
have  capital  opportunities  of  judging,  you  know,  dear." 

"  But  she  is  no  judge.  What  can  a  girl  like  Katie 
know  about  such  things  ? " 

"  Well,  dear,  do  you  know  I  really  cannot  think  there 
was  any  thing  very  wrong,  though  I  did  think  so  at  first, 
I  own." 

"  But  I  find  that  his  character  was  bad  —  decidedly  bad 
—  always.  Young  St.  Cloud  didn't  like  to  say  much  to 
me ;  which  was  natural,  of  course.  Young  men  never 
like  to  betray  one  another ;  but  I  could  see  what  he 
thought.  He  is  a  right-minded  young  man,  and  very 
agreeable." 

"  I  do  not  take  to  him  very  much." 

"  His  connections  and  prospects,  too,  are  capital.  I 
sometimes  think  he  has  a  fancy  for  Mary.  Haven't  you 
remarked  it  ?  " 

"  Yes,  dear.  But  as  to  the  other  matter  ?  Shall  you 
ask  him  here?  " 

"  Well,  dear,  I  do  not  think  there  is  any  need.  He  is 
only  in  town,  I  suppose,  for  a  short  time,  and  it  is  not  at 
all  likely  that  we  should  know  where  he  is,  you  see." 

"But  if  he  should  call?" 

"Of  course  then  we  must  be  civil.  We  can  consider 
then  what  is  to  be  done." 


CHAPTER     XXL 

THE   INTERCEPTED    LETTER-BAG. 

"Dear  Katie,  —  At  home,  you  see,  without  having 
answered  your  last  kind  letter  of  counsel  and  sympathy. 
But  I  couldn't  write  in  town,  I  was  in  such  a  queer  state 
all  the  time.  I  enjoyed  nothing,  not  even  the  match  at 
Lords,  or  the  race ;  only  walking  at  night  in  the  square, 
and  watching  her  window,  and  seeing  her  at  a  distance 
in  Rotten  Row. 

u  I  followed  your  advice  at  last,  though  it  went  against 
the  grain  uncommonly.  It  did  seem  so  unlike  what  I  had 
a  right  to  expect  from  them  —  after  all  the  kindness  my 
father  and  mother  had  shown  them  when  they  came  into 
our  neighborhood,  and  after  I  had  been  so  intimate  there, 
running  in  and  out  just  like  a  son  of  their  own  —  that 
they  shouldn't  take  the  slightest  notice  of  me  all  the 
time  I  was  in  London.  I  shouldn't  have  wondered  if  you 
hadn't  explained  ;  but  after  that,  and  after  you  had  told 
them  my  direction,  and  when  they  knew  that  I  was  within 
five  minutes'  walk  of  their  house  constantly  (for  they  knew 
all  about  Grey's  schools,  and  that  I  was  there  three  or 
four  times  a  week),  I  do  think  it  was  too  bad.  However, 
as  I  was  going  to  tell  you,  I  went  at  last,  for  I  couldn't 
leave  town  without  trying  to  see  her ;  and  I  believe  I 
have  finished  it  all  off.  I  don't  know.  I'm  very  low 
about  it,  at  any  rate,  and  want  to  tell  you  all  that  passed, 
and  to  hear  what  you  think.  I  have  no  one  to  consult 
but  you,  Katie.     What  should  I  do  without  you  ?     But 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  333 

you  were  born  to  help  and  comfort  all  the  world.  I  sha'n't 
rest  till  I  know  what  you  think  about  this  last  crisis  in  my 
history. 

"  I  put  off  going  till  my  last  day  in  town,  and  then 
called  twice.  The  first  time,  '  not  at  home.'  But  I  was 
determined  now  to  see  somebody,  and  make  out  something  ; 
so  I  left  my  card,  and  a  message  that,  as  I  was  leaving 
town  next  day,  I  would  call  again.  When  I  called  again 
at  about  six  o'clock,  I  was  shown  into  the  library,  and 
presently  your  uncle  came  in.  I  felt  very  uncomfortable, 
and  I  think  he  did  too  ;  but  he  shook  hands  cordially 
enough,  asked  why  I  had  not  called  before,  and  said  he 
was  sorry  to  hear  I  was  going  out  of  town  so  soon.  Do 
you  believe  he  meant  it  ?  I  didn't.  But  it  put  me  out, 
because  it  made  it  look  as  if  it  had  been  my  fault  that  I 
hadn't  been  there  before.  I  said  I  didn't  know  that  he 
would  have  liked  me  to  call,  but  I  felt  that  he  had  got 
the  best  of  the  start. 

"  Then  he  asked  after  all  at  home,  and  talked  of  his 
boys,  and  how  they  were  getting  on  at  school.  By  this 
time  I  had  got  my  head  again  ;  so  I  went  back  to  my  call- 
ing, and  said  that  I  had  felt  I  could  never  come  to  their 
house  as  a  common  acquaintance,  and,  as  I  did  not  know 
whether  they  would  ever  let  me  come  in  any  other  capac- 
ity, I  had  kept  away  till  now. 

"  Your  uncle  didn't  like  it,  I  know  ;  for  he  got  up  and 
walked  about,  and  then  said  he  didn't  understand  me. 
Well,  I  had  got  quite  reckless  by  this  time.  It  was  my 
last  chance  I  felt ;  so  I  looked  hard  into  my  hat,  and  said 
that  I  had  been  over  head  and  ears  in  love  with  Mary  for 
two  years.  Of  course  there  was  no  getting  out  of  the 
business  after  that.  I  kept  on  staring  into  my  hat ;  so  I 
don't  know  how  he  took  it ;  but  the  first  thing  he  said  was 
that  ho  had  had  some  suspicions  of  this,  and  now  my  con- 


334  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

fession  gave  him  a  right  to  ask  me  several  questions.  In 
the  first  place,  Had  I  ever  spoken  to  her?  No;  nevei 
directly.  What  did  I  mean  by  directly  ?  I  meant  that  I 
had  never  either  spoken  or  written  to  her  on  the  subject, 
—  in  fact,  I  hadn't  seen  her,  except  at  a  distance,  for  the 
last  two  years,  —  but  I  could  not  say  that  she  might  not 
have  found  it  out  from  my  manner.  Had  I  ever  told  any 
one  else  ?  No ;  and  this  was  quite  true,  Katie,  for  both 
you  and  Hardy  found  it  out. 

"  He  took  a  good  many  more  turns  before  speaking 
again.  Then  he  said  I  had  acted  as  a  gentleman  hitherto, 
and  he  should  be  very  plain  with  me.  Of  course,  I  must 
see  that,  looking  at  my  prospects  and  his  daughter's,  it 
could  not  be  an  engagement  which  he  could  look  on  with 
much  favor  from  a  worldly  point  of  view.  Nevertheless, 
he  had  the  highest  respect  and  regard  for  my  family,  so 
that,  if  in  some  years'  time  I  was  in  a  position  to  marry, 
he  should  not  object  on  this  score ;  but  there  were  other 
matters  which  were  in  his  eyes  of  more  importance.  He 
had  heard  (who  could  have  told  him  ?)  that  I  had  taken 
up  very  violent  opinions  —  opinions  which,  to  say  nothing 
more  of  them,  would  very  much  damage  my  prospects  of 
success  in  life ;  and  that  I  was  in  the  habit  of  associating 
with  the  advocates  of  such  opinions, —  persons  who,  he 
must  say,  were  not  fit  companions  for  a  gentleman, —  and 
of  writing  violent  articles  in  low  revolutionary  newspa- 
pers, such  as  the  Wessex  Freeman.  Yes,  I  confessed  I 
had  written.  Would  I  give  up  these  things  ?  I  had  a 
great  mind  to  say  flat,  No,  and  I  believe  I  ought  to  have ; 
but  as  his  tone  was  kind  I  couldn't  help  trying  to  meet 
him.  So  I  said  I  would  give  up  writing  or  speaking  pub- 
licly about  such  matters,  but  I  couldn't  pretend  not  to 
believe  what  I  did  believe.  Perhaps,  as  my  opinions  had 
altered  so  much  already,  very  likely  they  might  again. 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  335 

"  lie  seemed  to  be  rather  amused  at  that,  and  said  he 
sincerely  hoped  they  might.  But  now  came  the  most 
serious  point :  he  had  heard  very  bad  stories  of  me  at 
Oxford,  but  he  would  not  press  me  with  them.  There 
were  too  few  young  men  whose  lives  would  bear  looking 
into  for  him  to  insist  much  on  such  matters,  and  he  was 
ready  to  let  bygones  be  bygones.  But  I  must  remember 
that  he  had  himself  seen  me  in  one  very  awkward  po- 
sition. I  broke  in,  and  said  I  had  hoped  that  had  been 
explained  to  him.  I  could  not  defend  my  Oxford  life  ;  I 
could  not  defend  myself  as  to  this  particular  case  at  one 
time  ;  but  there  had  been  nothing  in  it  that  I  was  ashamed 
of  since  before  the  time  I  knew  his  daughter. 

"  On  my  honor  had  I  absolutely  and  entirely  broken  off 
all  relations  with  her?  He  had  been  told  that  I  still 
kept  up  a  correspondence  with  her. 

"  Yes,  I  still  wrote  to  her,  and  saw  her  occasionally  ; 
but  it  was  only  to  give  her  news  of  a  young  man  from  her 
village,  who  was  now  serving  in  India.  He  had  no  other 
way  of  communicating  with  her. 

"  It  was  a  most  curious  arrangement ;  did  I  mean  that 
this  young  man  was  going  to  be  married  to  her  ? 

"  I  hoped  so. 

"  Why  should  he  not  write  to  her  at  once  if  they  were 
engaged  to  be  married  ? 

"  They  were  not  exactly  engaged  ;  it  was  rather  hard 
to  explain.  Here  your  uncle  seemed  to  lose  patience,  for 
he  interrupted  me  and  said,  Really,  it  must  be  clear  to 
me,  as  a  reasonable  man,  that,  if  this  connection  were  not 
absolutely  broken  off,  there  must  be  an  end  of  every  thing, 
so  far  as  his  daughter  was  concerned.  Would  I  give  my 
word  of  honor  to  break  it  off  at  once,  and  completely  ? 
I  tried  to  explain  again ;  but  he  would  have  nothing  but 
yes  or  no.     Dear  Katie,  what  could  I  do  ?     I  have  writ- 


336  TOM    BUOWN   AT    OXFORD. 

ten  to  Patty  that,  till  I  die,  she  may  always  reckon  on  me 
as  on  a  brother ;  and  I  have  promised  Harry  never  to 
lose  sight  of  her,  and  to  let  her  know  every  thing  that 
happens  to  him.  Your  uncle  would  not  hear  me  ;  so  I 
said,  No.  And  he  said,  '  Then  our  interview  had  better 
end,'  and  rang  the  bell.  Somebody,  I'm  sure,  has  been 
slandering  me  to  him  ;  who  can  it  be  ? 

"  I  didn't  say  another  word,  or  offer  to  shake  hands, 
but  got  up  and  walked  out  of  the  room,  as  it  was  no  good 
waiting  for  the  servant  to  come.  "When  I  got  into  the 
hall  the  front  door  was  open,  and  I  heard  her  voice.  I 
stopped  dead  short.  She  was  saying  something  to  some 
people  who  had  been  riding  with  her.  The  next  moment 
the  door  shut,  and  she  tripped  in  in  her  riding-habit,  and 
gray  gloves,  and  hat,  with  the  dearest  little  gray  plume  in 
it.  She  went  humming  along,  and  up  six  or  eight  steps, 
without  seeing  me.  Then  I  moved  a  step,  and  she 
stopped  and  looked,  and  gave  a  start.  I  don't  know 
whether  my  face  was  awfully  miserable,  but,  when  our 
eyes  met,  hers  seemed  to  fill  with  pity  and*  uneasiness 
and  inquiry,  and  the  bright  look  to  melt  away  altogether ; 
and  then  she  blushed,  and  ran  down-stairs  again,  and  held 
out  her  hand,  saying,  '  I  am  so  glad  to  see  you,  after  all 
this  long  time.'  I  pressed  it,  but  I  don't  think  I  said  any 
tiling.  I  forget ;  the  butler  came  into  the  hall,  and  stood 
by  the  door.  She  paused  another  moment,  looked  con- 
fused, and  then,  as  the  library  door  opened,  went  away 
up-stairs,  with  a  kind  '  good-by.'  She  dropped  a  little 
bunch  of  violets,  which  she  had  worn  in  the  breast  of  her 
habit,  as  she  went  away.  I  went  and  picked  them  up, 
although  your  uncle  had  now  come  out  of  the  library, 
and  then  made  the  best  of  my  way  into  the  street. 

"  There,  Katie,  I  have  told  you  every  thing,  exactly  as 
it  happened.     Do  write  to  me,  dear,  and  tell  me,  now, 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  337 

what  )rou  think.  Is  it  all  over  ?  What  can  I  do  ?  Can 
you  do  any  thing  for  me  ?  I  feel  it  is  better  in  one  respect. 
Her  father  can  never  say  now  that  I  didn't  tell  him  all 
about  it.  But  what  is  to  happen  ?  I  am  so  restless.  I 
can  settle  to  nothing,  and  do  nothing,  but  fish.  I  moon 
away  all  my  time  by  the  water-side,  dreaming.  But  I 
don't  mean  to  let  it  beat  me  much  longer.  Here's  the 
fourth  day  since  I  saw  her.  I  came  away  the  next  morn- 
ing. I  shall  give  myself  a  week ;  and,  dear,  do  write  me 
a  long  letter  at  once,  and  interpret  it  all  to  me.  A  woman 
knows  so  wonderfully  what  things  mean.  But  don't  make 
it  out  better  than  you  really  think.  Nobody  can  stop  my 
going  on  loving  her,  that's  a  comfort ;  and  while  I  can  do 
that,  and  don't  know  that  she  loves  anybody  else,  I  ought 
to  be  happier  than  any  other  man  in  the  world.  Yes,  I 
ought  to  be,  but  I  aint.  I  will  be,  though ;  see  if  I  wont. 
Heigho  !  Do  write  directly,  my  dear  counsellor,  to  your 
affectionate  cousin, 

"T.  B. 

"  P.S. —  I  had  almost  forgotten  my  usual  budget.  I 
enclose  my  last  from  India.  You  will  see  by  it  that 
Harry  is  getting  on  famously.  I  am  more  glad  than  I 
can  tell  you  that  my  friend  East  has  taken  him  as  his 
servant.  He  couldn't  be  under  a  better  master.  Poor 
Harry !  I  sometimes  think  his  case  is  more  hopeless  than 
my  own.     How  is  it  to  come  right  ?  or  mine  ?  " 

"  Englebourn. 
"Dear  Cousin,  —  You  will  believe  howl  devoured 
your  letter  ;  though,  when  I  had  read  the  first  faw  lines, 
and  saw  what  was  coming,  it  made  me  stop  and  tremble. 
At  first  I  could  have  cried  over  it  for  vexation  ;  but,  now 
I  have  thought  about  it  a  little,  I  really  do  not  see  any 
reason  to  be  discouraged,  At  any  rate,  Uncle  Robert  now 
29 


338  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

knows  all  about  it,  and  will  get  used  to  the  idea,  and  Mary 
seems  to  have  received  you  just  as  you  ought  to  have 
wished  that  she  should.  I  am  thankful  that  you  have  left 
off  pressing  me  to  write  to  her  about  you,  for  I  am  sure 
that  would  not  be  honorable  ;  and,  to  reward  you,  I  en- 
close a  letter  of  hers,  which  came  yesterday.  You  will 
see  that  she  speaks  with  such  pleasure  of  having  just 
caught  a  glimpse  of  you,  that  you  need  not  regret  the 
shortness  of  the  interview.  You  could  not  expect  her  to 
say  more,  because,  after  all,  she  can  only  guess ;  and  I 
cannot  do  more  than  answer  as  if  I  were  quite  innocent 
too.  I  am  sure  you  will  be  very  thankful  to  me  some  day 
for  not  having  been  your  mouthpiece,  as  I  was  so  very 
near  being.  You  need  not  return  the  letter.  I  suppose 
I  am  getting  more  hopeful  as  I  grow  older  —  indeed,  I  am 
sure  I  am  ;  for  three  or  four  years  ago  I  should  have  been 
in  despair  about  you,  and  now  I  am  nearly  sure  that  all 
will  come  right. 

"  But,  indeed,  Cousin  Tom,  you  cannot,  or  ought  not,  to 
wonder  at  Uncle  Robert's  objecting  to  your  opinions.  And 
then  I  am  so  surprised  to  find  you  saying  that  you  think 
you  may  very  likely  change  them.  Because,  if  that  is  the 
case,  it  would  be  so  much  better  if  you  would  not  write  and 
talk  about  them.  Unless  you  are  quite  convinced  of  such 
things  as  you  write  in  that  dreadful  paper,  you  really 
ought  not  to  go  on  writing  them  so  very  much  as  if  you 
believed  them. 

"  And  now  I  am  speaking  to  you  about  this,  which  I 
have  often  had  on  my  mind  to  speak  to  you  about,  I  must 
ask  you  not  to  send  me  that  Wessex  Freeman  any  more. 
I  am  always  delighted  to  hear  what  you  think ;  and  there  is 
a  great  deal  in  the  articles  you  mark  for  me  which  seems 
very  fine ;  and  I  dare  say  you  quite  believe  it  all  when 
you  write  it.     Only  I  am  quite  afraid  lest  papa  or  any 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  339 

of  the  servants  should  open  the  papers,  or  get  hold  cf  them 
after  I  have  opened  them  ;  for  I  am  sure  there  are  a  great 
many  wicked  things  in  the  other  parts  of  the  paper.  So, 
please  do  not  send  it  me,  but  write  and  tell  me  yourself 
any  thing  that  you  wish  me  to  know  of  what  you  are  think- 
ing about  and  doing.  As  I  did  not  like  to  burn  the  pa- 
pers, and  was  afraid  to  keep  them  here,  I  have  generally 
sent  them  on  to  your  friend,  Mr.  Hardy.  He  does  not 
know  who  sends  them  ;  and  now  you  might  send  them 
yourself  straight  to  him,  as  I  do  not  know  his  address  in 
the  country.  As  you  are  going  up  again  to  keep  a  term, 
I  wish  you  would  talk  them  over  with  him,  and  see  what 
he  thinks  about  them.  You  will  think  this  very  odd  of 
me,  but  you  know  you  have  always  said  how  much  you 
rely  on  his  judgment,  and  that  you  have  learned  so  much 
from  him.  So  I  am  sure  you  would  wish  to  consult  him  ; 
and,  if  he  thinks  you  ought  to  go  on  writing,  it  will  be  a 
great  help  to  you  to  know  it. 

"  I  am  so  very  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  you  how  well 
Martha  is  going  on.  I  have  always  read  to  her  the  ex- 
tracts from  your  letters  from  India  which  you  have  sent 
me,  and  she  is  very  much  obliged  to  you  for  sending  them. 
I  think  there  is  no  doubt  that  she  is,  and  always  has  been, 
attached  to  poor  Widow  Winburn's  son,  and,  now  that  he 
is  behaving  so  well,  I  can  see  that  it  gives  her  great  pleas- 
ure to  hear  about  him.  Only,  I  hope,  he  will  be  able  to 
come  back  before  very  long,  because  she  is  very  much 
admired,  and  is  likely  to  have  so  many  chances  of  settling 
in  life,  that  it  is  a  great  chance  whether  her  attachment 
to  him  will  be  strong  enough  to  keep  her  single  if  he 
should  be  absent  for  many  years. 

"  Do  you  know  I  have  a  sort  of  superstition,  that  your 
fate  hangs  upon  theirs  in  some  curious  manner,  —  the  two 
stories  have  been  so  interwoven,  —  aud  that  they  will  both 


340  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

be  settled  happily  much  sooner  than  we  dare  to  hope  even 
just  now  ? 

"  Don't  think,  my  dear  cousin,  that  this  letter  is  cold,  or 
that  I  do  not  take  the  very  deepest  interest  in  all  that 
concerns  you.  You  and  Mary  are  always  in  my  thoughts, 
and  there  is  nothing  in  the  world  I  would  not  do  for  you 
both  which  I  thought  would  help  you.  I  am  sure  it  would 
do  you  harm  to  be  only  a  go-between.  Papa  is  much  as 
usual.  He  gets  out  a  good  deal  in  his  chair  in  the  sun 
this  fine  weather.  He  desires  me  to  say  how  glad  he 
should  be  if  you  will  come  over  soon  and  pay  us  a  visit. 
I  hope  you  will  come  very  soon. 

"  Ever  believe  me,  dear  Tom, 

"  Your  affectionate  cousin, 

"  Katie." 

"  November. 

"  Dear  Tom,  —  I  hear  that  what  you  in  England  call 
a  mail  is  to  leave  camp  this  evening ;  so,  that  you  may 
have  no  excuse  for  not  writing  to  me  constantly,  I  am 
setting  to  spin  you  such  a  yarn  as  I  can  under  the  disad- 
vantageous circumstances  in  which  this  will  leave  me. 

"  This  time  last  year,  or  somewhere  thereabouts,  I  was 
enjoying  academic  life  with  you  at  Oxford ;  and  now  here 
I  am,  encamped  at  some  unpronounceable  place  beyond 
Umbala.  You  wont  be  much  the  wiser  for  that.  What 
do  you  know  about  Umbala  ?  I  didn't  myself  know  that 
there  was  such  a  place  till  a  month  ago,  when  we  were 
ordered  to  march  up  here.  But  one  lives  and  learns. 
Marching  over  India  has  its  disagreeables,  of  which  dys- 
entery and  dust  are  about  the  worst.  A  lot  of  our  fel- 
lows are  down  with  the  former ;  amongst  others  my  cap- 
tain ;  so  I'm  in  command  of  the  company.  If  it  were  not 
for  the  glorious  privilege  of  grumbling,  I  think  we  should 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  341 

all  own  that  we  liked  the  life.  Moving  about,  though  one 
does  get  frozen  and  broiled  regularly  once  in  ;he  twenty- 
four  hours,  suits  me  ;  besides,  they  talk  of  matters  coming 
to  a  crisis,  and  no  end  of  fighting  to  be  done  directly. 
You'll  know  more  about  what's  going  on  from  the  papers 
than  we  do,  but  here  they  say  the  ball  may  begin  any  day  ; 
so  we  are  making  forced  marches  to  be  up  in  time.  I 
wonder  how  I  shall  like  it.  Perhaps,  in  my  next,  I  may 
tell  you  how  a  bullet  sounds  when  it  comes  at  you.  If 
there  is  any  fighting,  I  expect  our  regiment  will  make 
their  mark.  We  are  in  tip-top  order ;  the  colonel  is  a 
grand  fellow,  and  the  regiment  feels  his  hand,  down  to  the 
youngest  drummer  boy.  What  a  deal  of  good  I  will  do 
when  I'm  a  colonel. 

"  I  duly  delivered  the  enclosure  in  your  last  to  your 
convict,  who  is  rapidly  ascending  the  ladder  of  promotion. 
I  am  disgusted  at  this  myself,  for  I  have  had  to  give  him 
up,  and  there  never  was  such  a  jewel  of  a  servant ;  but, 
of  course,  it's  a  great  thing  for  him.  He  is  covering  ser- 
geant of  my  company,  and  the  smartest  coverer  we  have 
too.  I  have  got  a  regular  broth  of  a  boy,  an  Irishman,  in 
his  place,  who  leads  me  a  dog  of  a  life.  I  took  him  chiefly 
because  he  very  nearly  beat  me  in  a  foot-race.  Our  senior 
major  is  a  Pat  himself,  and,  it  seems,  knew  something  of 
Larry's  powers.  So,  one  day  at  mess,  he  offered  to  back 
him  against  any  one  in  the  regiment  for  two  hundred 
yards.  My  captain  took  him  and  named  me,  and  it  came 
off  next  day  ;  and  a  precious  narrow  thing  it  was,  but  I 
managed  to  win  by  a  neck  for  the  honor  of  the  old  school. 
He  is  a  lazy  scatter-brained  creature,  utterly  indifferent  to 
fact,  and  I  am  obliged  to  keep  the  brandy  flask  under  lock 
and  key  ;  but  the  humor  and  absolute  good  temper  of  the 
animal  impose  upon  me,  and  I  really  think  he  is  attached 
to  me.  So  I  keep  him  on,  grumbling  horribly  at  the 
29* 


342  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

change  from  that  orderly,  punctual,  clean,  accurate  con- 
vict. Depend  upon  it,  that  fellow  will  do.  He  makes  his 
way  everywhere,  with  officers  and  men.  He  is  a  gentle- 
man at  heart,  and,  by  the  way,  you  would  be  surprised 
at  the  improvement  in  his  manners  and  speech.  There 
is  hardly  a  taste  of  Berkshire  left  in  his  deealect.  He 
has  read  all  the  books  I  could  lend  him,  or  borrow  for 
him,  and  is  fast  picking  up  Hindustanee.  So  you  see, 
after  all,  I  am  come  round  to  your  opinion  that  we  did  a 
good  afternoon's  work  on  that  precious  stormy  common, 
when  we  carried  off  the  convict  from  the  authorities  of  his 
native  land,  and  I  was  first  under  fire.  As  you  are  a  per- 
former in  that  line,  couldn't  you  carry  off  his  sweetheart, 
and  send  her  out  here  ?  After  the  sea  voyage  there  isn't 
much  above  one  thousand  miles  to  come  by  dauk  ;  and 
tell  her,  with  my  compliments,  he  is  well  worth  coming 
twice  the  distance  for.  Poor  fellow,  it  is  a  bad  look-out 
for  him  I'm  afraid,  as  he  may  not  get  home  this  ten  years ; 
and,  though  he  isn't  a  kind  to  be  easily  killed,  there  are 
serious  odds  against .  him,  even  if  he  keeps  all  right.  I 
almost  wish  you  had  never  told  me  his  story. 

"  We  are  going  into  cantonments  as  soon  as  this  expedi- 
tion is  over  in  a  splendid  pig  district,  and  I  look  forward  to 
some  real  sport.  All  the  men  who  have  had  any  tell  me 
it  beats  the  best  fox-hunt  all  to  fits  for  excitement.  I  have 
got  my  eye  on  a  famous  Arab,  who  is  to  be  had  cheap. 
The  brute  is  in  the  habit  of  kneeling  on  his  masters,  and 
tearing  them  with  his  teeth  when  he  gets  them  off,  but 
nothing  can  touch  him  while  you  keep  on  his  back.  How- 
sumdever,  as  your  countrymen  say,  I  shall  have  a  shy  at 
him,  if  I  can  get  him  at  my  price.  I've  nothing  more  to 
say.  There's  nobody  you  know  here,  except  the  convict 
sergeant,  and  it's  awfully  hard  to  fill  a  letter  home  unless 
you'v-3  somebody  to  talk  about.     Yes,  by  the  way,  there 


TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  343 

is  one  little  fellow,  an  ensign,  just  joined,  who  says  he  re- 
members us  at  school.  He  can't  be  more  than  eighteen 
or  nineteen,  and  was  an  urchin  in  the  lower  school,  I  sup- 
pose, when  we  were  leaving.  I  don't  remember  his  face, 
but  it's  a  very  good  one,  and  he  is  a  bright,  gentlemanly 
youngster  as  you  would  wish  to  see.  His  name  is  Jones. 
Do  you  remember  him  ?  He  will  be  a  godsend  to  me. 
I  have  him  to  chum  with  me  on  this  march. 

"  Keep  up  your  letters  as  you  love  me.  You  at  home 
little  know  what  it  is  to  enjoy  a  letter.  Never  mind  what 
you  put  in  it;  any  thing  will  do  from  home,  and  I've  no- 
body else  much  to  write  to  me. 

"  There  goes  the  '  assembly.'  Why,  I  can't  think,  see- 
ing we  have  done  our  day's  march.  However,  I  must 
turn  out  and  see  what's  up. 

******** 

"  December. 
"  I  have  just  fallen  on  this  letter,  which  I  had  quite  for- 
gotten, or,  rather,  had  fancied  I  had  sent  off  to  you  three 
weeks  and  more  ago.  My  baggage  has  just  come  to  hand, 
and  the  scrawl  turned  up  in  my  paper  case.  Well,  I  have 
plenty  to  tell  you  now,  at  any  rate,  if  I  had  time  to  tell  it. 
That  '  assembly '  which  stopped  me  short  sounded  in  con- 
sequence of  the  arrival  of  one  of  the  commander-in-chiefs 
aides  in  our  camp,  with  the  news  that  the  enemy  was 
over  the  Sutlej.  We  were  to  march  at  once,  with  two 
six-pounders  and  a  squadron  of  cavalry,  on  a  fort  occupied 
by  an  outlying  lot  of  them,  which  commanded  a  ford,  and 
was  to  be  taken  and  destroyed,  and  the  rascals  who  held 
it  dispersed;  after  which  we  were  to  join  the  main  army. 
Our  colonel  had  the  command  ;  so  we  were  on  the  route 
within  an  hour,  leaving  a  company  and  the  baggage  to 
follow  as  it  could ;   and  from  that  time  to  this,  forced 


344  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

marching  and  hard  fighting  have  been  the  order  of  tho 
day. 

"  We  drew  first  blood  next  morning.  The  enemy  were 
in  some  force  outside  the  fort,  and  showed  fight  in  very 
rough  ground  covered  with  bushes  ;  out  of  which  we  had 
to  drive  them  —  which  we  did  after  a  sharp  struggle,  and 
the  main  body  drew  off  altogether.  Then  the  fort  had  to 
be  taken.  Our  two  guns  worked  away  at  it  till  dark.  In 
the  night  two  of  the  gunners,  who  volunteered  for  the  ser- 
vice, crept  close  up  to  the  place,  and  reported  that  there 
was  nothing  to  hinder  our  running  right  into  it.  Accord- 
ingly, the  colonel  resolved  to  rush  it  at  daybreak,  and  my 
company  was  told  off  to  lead.  The  captain  being  absent,  I 
had  to  command.  I  was  with  the  dear  old  chief  the  last 
thing  at  night,  getting  his  instructions :  ten  minutes  with 
him  before  going  into  action  would  make  a  hare  fight. 

"  There  was  cover  to  within  one  hundred  and  fifty  yards 
of  the  place ;  and  there  I,  and  poor  little  Jones,  and  the 
men,  spent  the  night  in  a  dry  ditch.  An  hour  before  day- 
break we  were  on  the  alert,  and  served  out  rations,  and 
then  they  began  playing  tricks  on  one  another  as  if  we 
were  out  for  a  junketing.  I  sat  with  my  watch  in  my 
hand,  feeling  queer,  and  wondering  whether  I  was  a 
greater  coward  than  the  rest.  Then  came  a  streak  of 
light.  I  put  up  my  watch,  formed  the  men ;  up  went  a 
rocket,  my  signal,  and  out  into  the  open  we  went  at  the 
double.  We  hadn't  got  over  a  third  of  the  ground  when 
bang  went  the  fort  guns,  and  the  grape-shot  were  whistling 
about  our  ears  ;  so  I  shouted  '  Forward  !  '  and  away  we 
went  as  hard  as  we  could  go.  I  was  obliged  to  go  ahead, 
you  see,  because  every  man  of  them  knew  I  had  beaten 
Larry,  their  best  runner,  when  he  had  no  gun  to  carry ; 
but  I  didn't  half  like  it,  and  should  have  blessed  any  hole 
or  bramble  which  would  have  sent  me  over  and  <nven  them 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  345 

tii-ie  to  catch  me.  But  the  ground  was  provokingly  level ; 
and  so  I  was  at  the  first  mound  and  over  it  several  lengths 
in  front  of  the  men,  and  among  a  lot  of  black  fellows  serv- 
ing the  guns.  They  came  at  me  like  wild-cats,  and  how 
I  got  off  is  a  mystery.  I  parried  a  cut  from  one  fellow, 
and  dodged  a  second  ;  a  third  rushed  at  my  left  side.  I 
just  caught  the  flash  of  his  tulwar,  and  thought  it  was  all 
up,  when  he  jumped  into  the  air,  shot  through  the  heart  by 
Sergeant  Winburn  ;  and  the  next  moment  Master  Larry 
rushed  by  me  and  plunged  his  bayonet  into  my  friend  in 
front.  It  turned  me  as  sick  as  a  dog.  I  can't  fancy  any 
thing  more  disagreeable  than  seeing  the  operation  for  the 
first  time,  except  being  stuck  one's  self.  The  supporting 
companies  were  in  in  another  minute,  with  the  dear  old 
chief  himself,  who  came  up  and  shook  hands  with  me,  and 
said  I  had  done  credit  to  the  regiment.  Then  I  began  to 
look  about,  and  missed  poor  little  Jones.  We  found  him 
about  twenty  yards  from  the  place,  with  two  grape-shot 
through  him,  stone  dead,  and  smiling  like  a  child  asleep. 
"We  buried  him  in  the  fort.  I  cut  off  some  of  his  hair, 
and  sent  it  home  to  his  mother.  Her  last  letter  was  in 
his  breast  pocket,  and  a  lock  of  bright  brown  hair  of  some 
one's.     I  sent  them  back,  too,  and  his  sword. 

"  Since  then  we  have  been  with  the  army,  and  had 
three  or  four  general  actions ;  about  which  I  can  tell  you 
nothing,  except  that  we  have  lost  about  a  third  of  the 
regiment,  and  have  always  been  told  we  have  won.  Steps 
go  fast  enough  ;  my  captain  died  of  wounds  and  dysentery 
a  week  ago  ;  so  I  have  the  company  in  earnest.  How  long 
I  shall  hold  it  is  another  question;  for,  though  there's  a 
slack,  we  haven't  done  with  sharp  work  yet,  I  can  see. 

"  How  often  we've  talked,  years  ago,  of  what  it  must 
feel  like  going  into  battle  !  Well,  the  chief  thing  I  felt 
when  the  grape  came  down  pretty  thick  for  the  first  time, 


346  TOiM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

as  we  were  advancing,  was  a  sort  of  gripes  in  the  stomach 
which  made  me  want  to  go  forward  stooping.  But  I 
didn't  give  in  to  it ;  the  chief  was  riding  close  behind  us, 
joking  the  youngsters  who  were  ducking  their  heads,  and 
so  cheery  and  cool,  that  he  made  old  soldiers  of  us  at 
once.  What  with  smoke  and  dust  and  excitement,  you 
know  scarcely  any  thing  of  what  is  going  on.  The  finest 
sight  I  have  seen  is  the  artillery  going  into  action.  Noth- 
ing stops  those  fellows.  Places  you  would  crane  at  out 
hunting  they  go  right  over,  guns,  carriages,  men,  and  all, 
leaving  any  cavalry  we've  got  out  here  well  behind. 
Do  you  know  what  a  nullah  is  ?  Well,  it's  a  great  gap, 
like  a  huge  dry  canal,  fifteen  or  twenty  feet  deep.  We 
were  halted  behind  one  in  the  last  great  fight,  waiting  the 
order  to  advance,  when  a  battery  came  up  at  full  gallop. 
We  all  made  sure  they  must  be  pulled  up  by  the  nullah. 
They  never  pulled  bridle.  '  Leading  gun,  right  turn  ! ' 
sang  out  the  subaltern,  and  down  they  went  sideways  into 
the  nullah.  Then,  '  Left  turn  ; '  up  the  other  bank,  one 
gun  after  another,  the  horses  scrambling  like  cats  up  and 
down  places  that  my  men  had  to  use  their  hands  to 
scramble  up,  and  away  the  other  side  to  within  two  hun- 
dred yards  of  the  enemy ;  and  then,  round  like  lightning, 
and  look  out  in  front. 

"  Altogether  it's  sickening  work,  though  there's  a  grand 
sort  of  feeling  of  carrying  your  life  in  your  hand.  They 
say  the  Sepoy  regiments  have  behaved  shamefully.  There 
is  no  sign  of  any  thing  like  funk  amongst  our  fellows  that 
I  have  seen.  Sergeant  Winburn  has  distinguished  him- 
self everywhere.  He  is  like  my  shadow,  and  I  can  see 
tries  to  watch  over  my  precious  carcase,  and  get  between 
me  and  danger.  He  would  be  a  deal  more  missed  in  the 
world  than  I.  Except  you,  old  friend,  I  don't  know  who 
would  care  much  if  I  were   knocked  over   to-morrow. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  347 

Aunts  and  cousins  are  my  nearest  relations.  Yoa  know 
I  never  was  a  snuffler ;  but  this  sort  of  life  makes  one 
serious,  if  one  has  any  reverence  at  all  in  one.  You'll 
be  glad  to  have  this  line,  if  you  don't  hear  from  me  again. 
I've  often  thought  in  the  last  month  that  we  shall  never 
see  one  another  again  in  this  world.  But,  whether  in 
this  world  or  any  other,  you  know  I  am  and  always  shall 
be  your  affectionate  friend, 

"H.  East." 

"  Camp  on  the  Sutlej, 

"  January. 

"  Dear  Master  Tom,  —  The  captain's  last  words 
was,  if  any  thing  happened  I  was  to  be  sure  to  write  and 
tell  you.  And  so  I  take  up  my  pen,  though  you  will 
know  as  I  am  not  used  to  writing,  to  tell  you  the  misfor- 
tune as  has  happened  to  our  regiment.  Because,  if  you 
was  to  ask  any  man  in  our  regiment,  let  it  be  who  it 
would,  he  would  say  as  the  captain  was  the  best  officer 
as  ever  led  men.  Not  but  what  there's  a  many  of  them 
as  will  go  to  the  front  as  brave  as  lions,  and  don't  value 
shot  no  more  than  if  it  was  rotten  apples ;  and  men  as  is 
men  will  go  after  such.  But  'tis  the  captain's  manners 
and  ways,  with  a  kind  word  for  any  poor  fellow  as  is  hurt, 
or  sick  and  tired,  and  making  no  account  of  hisself,  and, 
as  you  may  say,  no  bounce  with  him ;  that 's  what  makes 
the  difference. 

"  As  it  might  be  last  Saturday,  we  came  upon  the 
enemy  where  he  was  posted  very  strong,  with  guns  all 
along  his  front,  and  served  till  we  got  right  up  to  them, 
the  gunners  being  cut  down  and  bayoneted  when  we  got 
right  up  amongst  them,  and  no  quarter  given  ;  and  there 
was  great  banks  of  earth,  too,  to  clamber  over,  and  mora 


348  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFOKD. 

guns  behind ;  so,  with  the  marching  up  in  front  and 
losing  so  many  officers  and  men,  our  regiment  was  that 
wild  when  we  got  amongst  them  'twas  awful  to  see,  and, 
if  there  was  any  prisoners  taken,  it  was  more  by  mistake 
than  not. 

"  Me  and  three  or  four  more  settled,  when  the  word 
came  to  prepare  for  action,  to  keep  with  the  captain,  be- 
cause 'twas  known  to  every  one  as  no  odds  would  stop 
him,  and  he  would  never  mind  hisself.  The  dust  and 
smoke  and  noise  was  that  thick  you  couldn't  see  nor  hear 
any  thing  after  our  regiment  was  in  action  ;  but,  so  far  as 
I  seen,  when  we  was  wheeled  into  line,  and  got  the  word 
to  advance,  there  was  as  it  might  be  as  far  as  from  our 
old  cottage  to  the  Hawk's  Lynch  to  go  over  before  we 
got  to  the  guns,  which  was  playing  into  us  all  the  way. 
Our  line  went  up  very  steady,  only  where  men  was 
knocked  down  ;  and,  when  we  come  to  within  a  matter 
of  sixty  yards,  the  officers  jumped  out  and  waved  their 
swords,  for  'twas  no  use  to  give  words,  and  the  ranks 
was  broken  by  reason  of  the  running  up  to  take  the  guns 
from  the  enemy.  Me  and  the  rest  went  after  the  cap- 
tain ;  but  he,  being  so  light  of  foot,  was  first,  by  maybe 
ten  yards  or  so,  at  the  mound,  and  so  up  before  we  was 
by  him.  But,  though  they  was  all  round  him  like  bees 
when  we  got  to  him,  'twas  not  then  as  he  was  hit.  There 
was  more  guns  further  on,  and  we  and  they  drove  on 
altogether;  and,  though  they  was  beaten,  being  fine  tall 
men  and  desperate,  there  was  many  of  them  fighting  hard, 
and,  as  you  might  say,  a  man  scarcely  knowed  how  he 
got  hit.  I  kept  to  the  captain  as  close  as  ever  I  could, 
but  there  was  times  when  I  had  to  mind  myself.  Just  as 
we  come  to  the  last  guns,  Larry,  that's  the  captain's  ser- 
vant, was  trying  by  hisself  to  turn  one  of  them  round,  so 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  349 

as  to  fire  on  the  enemy  as  they  took  the  river  to  the  back 
of  their  lines  all  in  a  huddle.  So  I  turned  to  lend  him  a 
hand  ;  and,  when  I  looked  round  next  moment,  there  was 
the  captain  a  staggering  like  a  drunken  man,  and  he  so 
strong  and  lissom  up  to  then,  and  never  had  a  scratch 
since  the  war  begun,  and  this  the  last  minute  of  it  pretty 
nigh,  for  the  enemy  was  all  cut  to  pieces  and  drowned 
that  day.  I  got  to  him  before  he  fell,  and  we  laid  him 
down  gently,  and  did  the  best  we  could  for  him.  But 
he  was  bleeding  dreadful  with  a  great  gash  in  his  side, 
and  his  arm  broke,  and  two  gunshot  Avounds.  Our  sur- 
geon was  killed,  and  'twas  hours  before  his  wounds  was 
dressed,  and  'twill  be  God's  mercy  if  ever  he  gets  round  ; 
though  they  do  say,  if  the  fever  and  dysentery  keeps  off, 
and  he  can  get  out  of  this  country  and  home,  there's  no 
knowing  but  he  may  get  the  better  of  it  all,  but  not  to 
serve  with  the  regiment  again  for  years  to  come. 

"  I  hope,  Master  Tom,  as  I've  told  you  all  the  captain 
would  like  as  you  should  know ;  only,  not  being  much 
used  to  writing,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  mistakes.  And, 
if  so  be  that  it  wont  be  too  much  troubling  of  you,  and 
the  captain  should  go  home,  and  you  could  write  to  say 
how  things  was  going  on  at  home  as  before,  which  the 
captain  always  gave  me  to  read  when  the  mail  come  in, 
it  would  be  a  great  help  towards  keeping  up  of  a  good 
heart  in  a  foreign  land,  which  is  hard  at  times  to  do. 
There  is  some  things  which  I  make  bold  to  send  by  a 
comrade  going  home  sick.  I  don't  know  as  they  will 
seem  much,  but  I  hope  as  you  will  accept  of  the  sword, 
which  belonged  to  one  of  their  officers,  and  the  rest  to  her. 
Also,  on  account  of  what  was  in  the  last  piece  as  you  for- 
warded, I  send  a  letter  to  go  along  with  the  things,  if 
Miss  Winter,  who  have  been  so  kind,  or  you,  would 
30 


350  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

deliver  the  same.  To  whom  I  make  bold  to  send  my 
respects  as  well  as  to  yourself,  and  hoping  this  will  find 
you  well  and  all  friends,  and 

"  From  your  respectful, 

"  Henry  Winburn, 
"  Color-Sergeant  101st  Regiment." 

"  March. 
"  My  dear  Tom,  —  I  begin  to  think  I  may  see  you 
again  yet,  but  it  has  been  a  near  shave.  I  hope  Ser- 
geant Winburn's  letter,  and  the  returns,  in  which  I  see  I 
was  put  down  '  dangerously  wounded,'  will  not  have 
frightened  you  very  much.  The  war  is  over ;  and,  if  I 
live  to  get  down  to  Calcutta  you  will  see  me  in  the  sum- 
mer, please  God.  The  end  was  like  the  beginning  — 
going  right  up  to  guns.  Our  regiment  is  frightfully  cut 
up  ;  there  are  only  three  hundred  men  left  under  arms 
—  the  rest  dead  or  in  hospital.  I  am  sick  at  heart  at  it, 
and  weak  in  body,  and  can  only  write  a  few  lines  at  a 
time,  but  will  go  on  with  this  as  I  can,  in  time  for  next 
mail. 

"  Since  beginning  this  letter  I  have  had  another  relapse. 
So,  in  case  I  should  never  finish  it,  I  will  say  at  once 
what  I  most  want  to  say.  "Winburn  has  saved  my  life 
more  than  once,  and  is  besides  one  of  the  noblest  and 
bravest  fellows  in  the  world ;  so  I  mean  to  provide  for 
him  in  case  any  thing  should  happen  to  me.  I  have 
made  a  will,  and  appointed  you  my  executor,  and  left 
him  a  legacy.  You  must  buy  his  discharge,  and  get  him 
home  and  married  to  the  Englebourn  beauty  as  soon  as 
possible.  But  what  I  want  you  to  understand  is  that,  if 
the  legacy  isn't  enough  to  do  this,  and  make  all  straight 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  351 

with  her  old  curmudgeon  of  a  father,  it  is  my  first  wish 
that  whatever  will  do  it  should  be  made  up  to  him.  He 
has  been  in  hospital  with  a  bad  flesh  wound,  and  has  let 
out  to  me  the  whole  of  his  story,  of  which  you  had  only 
given  me  the  heads.  If  that  young  woman  does  not 
wait  for  him,  and  book  him,  I  shall  give  up  all  faith  in 
petticoats.     Now  that's  done  I  feel  more  at  ease. 

"  Let  me  see.  I  haven't  written  for  six  weeks  and 
more,  just  before  our  last  great  fight.  You'll  know  all 
about  it  from  the  papers  long  before  you  get  this  —  a 
bloody  business  —  I  am  loth  to  think  of  it.  I  was  knocked 
over  in  the  last  of  their  entrenchments,  and  should  then 
and  there  have  bled  to  death  had  it  not  been  for  Winburn. 
He  never  left  me,  though  the  killing  and  plundering  and 
roystering  afterwards  was  going  on  all  round,  and  strong 
temptation  to  a  fellow  when  his  blood  is  up,  and  he  sees 
his  comrades  at  it,  after  such  work  as  we  had  had.  What's 
more,  he  caught  my  Irish  fellow  and  made  him  stay  by 
me,  too,  and  between  them  they  managed  to  prop  me  up 
and  stop  the  bleeding,  though  it  was  touch  and  go.  I 
never  thought  they  would  manage  it.  You  can't  think 
what  a  curious  feeling  it  is,  the  life  going  out  of  you.  I 
was  perfectly  conscious,  and  knew  all  they  were  doing 
and  saying,  and  thought  quite  clearly,  though  in  a  sort  of 
dreamy  way,  about  you,  and  a  whole  jumble  of  people 
and  things  at  home.  It  was  the  most  curious  painless 
mixture  of  dream  and  life,  getting  more  dreamy  every 
minute.  I  don't  suppose  I  could  have  opened  my  eyes  or 
spoken  ;  at  any  rate  I  had  no  wish  to  do  so,  and  didn't 
try.  Several  times  the  thought  of  death  came  close  to 
me ;  and,  whether  it  was  the  odd  state  I  was  in,  or  what 
else  I  don't  know,  but  the  only  feeling  I  had  was  one  of 
intense  curiosity.  I  should  think  I  must  have  lain  there, 
with  Winburn   supporting  my  head,  and  moistening  my 


352  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

lips  with  rum  and  water,  for  four  or  five  hours,  before  a 
doctor  could  be  got.  He  had  managed  to  drive  Larry 
about  till  he  had  found,  or  borrowed,  or  stolen  the  drink, 
and  then  kept  him  making  short  cruises  in  search  of  help 
in  the  shape  of  hospital-stuff,  ambulances,  or  doctors,  from 
which  Master  Larry  always  came  back  without  the 
slightest  success.  My  belief  is,  he  employed  those  pre- 
cious minutes,  when  he  was  from  under  his  sergeant's  eye, 
in  looting.  At  last  Winburn  got  impatient,  and  I  heard 
him  telling  Larry  what  he  was  to  do  while  he  was  gone 
himself  to  find  a  doctor ;  and  then  I  was  moved  as  gently 
as  if  I  had  been  a  sick  girl.  I  heard  him  go  off  with  a 
limp,  but  did  not  know  till  long  after  of  his  wound. 

"  Larry  had  made  such  a  wailing  and  to-do  when  they 
first  found  me,  that  a  natui-al  reaction  now  set  in,  and  he 
began  gently  and  tenderly  to  run  over  in  his  mind  what 
could  be  made  out  of '  the  captin,'  and  what  would  become 
of  his  things.  I  found  out  this,  partly  through  his  habit 
of  talking  to  himself,  and  partly  from  the  precaution  which 
he  took  of  ascertaining  where  my  watch  and  purse  were, 
and  what  else  I  had  upon  me.  It  tickled  me  immensely 
to  hear  him.  Presently  I  found  he  was  examining  my 
boots,  which  he  pronounced  'iligant  entirely,'  and  won- 
dered whether  he  could  get  them  on.  The  'serjint'  would 
never  want  them.  And  he  then  pi-oceeded  to  assert,  while 
he  actually  began  unlacing  them,  that  the  captin  would 
never  have  '  bet  him '  but  for  the  boots,  which  <  was  worth 
ten  feet  in  a  furlong  to  any  man.'  '  Shure  'tis  too  late 
now ;  but  wouldn't  I  like  to  run  him  agin  with  the  bare 
feet?'  I  couldn't  stand  that,  and  just  opened  my  eyes  a 
little,  and  moved  my  hand,  and  said,  '  Done.'  I  wanted 
to  add,  'you  rascal,'  but  that  was  too  much  for  me. 
Larry's  face  of  horror,  which  I  just  caught  through  my 
half-opened  eyes,  would  have  made  me  roar,  if  I  had  had 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  353 

strength  for  it.  I  believe  the  resolution  I  made  that  he 
should  never  go  about  in  my  boots  helped  me  to  pull 
through  ;  but,  as  soon  as  "Winburn  came  back  with  the 
doctor,  Master  Larry  departed,  and  I  much  doubt  whether 
I  shall  ever  set  eyes  on  him  again  in  the  flesh  ;  not  if  he 
can  help  it,  certainly.  The  regiment,  what's  left  of  it,  is 
away  in  the  Punjaub,  and  he  with  it.  Winburn,  as  I  told 
you,  is  hard  hit,  but  no  danger.  I  have  great  hopes  that 
lie  will  be  invalided.  You  may  depend  upon  it  he  will 
escort  me  home,  if  any  interest  of  mine  can  manage  it ; 
and  the  dear  old  chief  is  so  kind  to  me  that  I  think  he 
will  arrange  it  somehow. 

"  I  must  be  wonderfully  better  to  have  spun  such  a 
yarn.  Writing  those  first  ten  lines  nearly  finished  me,  a 
week  ago,  and  now  I  am  scarcely  tired  after  all  this 
scrawl.  If  that  rascal,  Larry,  escapes  hanging  another 
year,  and  comes  back  home,  I  will  run  him  yet,  and  thrash 
his  head  off". 

"  There  is  something  marvellously  life-giving  in  the 
idea  of  sailing  for  old  England  again  ;  and  I  mean  to  make 
a- strong  fight  for  seeing  you  again,  old  boy.  God  bless 
you.  Write  again  for  the  chance,  directing  to  my  agents 
at  Calcutta,  as  before.  Ever  your  half-alive,  but  whole* 
hearted  and  affectionate  friend, 

30*  "II.  East." 


CHAPTER    XXII. 


MASTER  S    TEEM. 


One  more  look  into  the  old  college  where  we  have 
spent  so  much  time  already,  not,  I  hope,  altogether  un- 
pleasantly. Our  hero  is  up  in  the  summer  term,  keeping 
his  three  weeks'  residence,  the  necessary  preliminary  to 
an  M.A.  degree.  We  find  him  sitting  in  Hardy's  rooms  ; 
tea  is  over,  scouts  out  of  college,  candles  lighted,  and 
silence  reigning,  except  when  distant  sounds  of  mirth 
come  from  some  undergraduates'  rooms  on  the  opposite 
side  of  quad,  through  the  open  windows. 

Hardy  is  deep  in  the  budget  of  Indian  letters,  some  of 
which  we  have  read  in  the  last  chapter ;  and  Tom  reads 
them  over  again  as  his  friend  finishes  them,  and  then 
carefully  folds  them  up  and  puts  them  back  in  their  places 
in  a  large  pocket-case.  Except  an  occasional  explanatory 
remark,  or  exclamation  of  interest,  no  word  passes  until 
Hardy  finishes  the  last  letter.  Then  he  breaks  out  into 
praises  of  the  two  Harrys,  which  gladdens  Tom's  heart  as 
he  fastens  the  case,  and  puts  it  back  in  his  pocket,  saying, 
"  Yes,  you  wont  find  two  finer  fellows  in  a  long  summer's 
day  ;  no,  nor  in  twenty." 

"  And  you  expect  them  home,  then,  in  a  week  or  two  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  so.  Just  about  the  time  I  shall  be  going 
down." 

"  Don't  talk  about  going  down.  You  haven't  been  here 
a  week." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  oOO 

"  Just  a  week.  One  out  of  three.  Three  weeks  wasted 
in  keeping  one's  Master's  term  !  Why  can't  you  give  a 
fellow  his  degree  quietly,  without  making  him  come  and 
kick  his  heels  here  for  three  weeks  ?  " 

"  You  ungrateful  dog !  Do  you  mean  to  say  you 
haven't  enjoyed  coming  back,  and  sitting  in  dignity  in  the 
bachelors'  seats  in  chapel,  and  at  the  bachelors'  table  in 
hall,  and  thinking  how  much  wiser  you  are  than  the 
undergraduates  ?  Besides,  your  old  friends  want  to  see 
you,  and  you  ought  to  want  to  see  them." 

"  Well,  I'm  very  glad  to  see  something  of  you  again, 
old  fellow.  I  don't  find  that  a  year's  absence  has  made 
any  change  in  you.  But  who  else  is  there  that  I  care  to 
see  ?  My  old  friends  are  gone,  and  the  year  has  made  a 
great  gap  between  me  and  the  youngsters.  They  look  on 
me  as  a  sort  of  don." 

"  Of  course  they  do.  Why,  you  are  a  sort  of  don.  You 
will  be  an  M.A.  in  a  fortnight,  and  a  member  of  Convo- 
cation." 

"  Very  likely  ;  but  I  don't  appreciate  the  dignity  ;  I  can 
tell  you  being  up  here  now  is  any  thing  but  enjoyable. 
You  have  never  broken  with  the  place.  And  then,  you 
always  did  your  duty,  and  have  done  the  college  credit* 
You  can't  enter  into  the  feelings  of  a  fellow  whose  con- 
nection with  Oxford  has  been  quite  broken  off,  and  who 
wasted  three  parts  of  his  time  here,  when  he  comes  back 
to  keep  his  Master's." 

"  Come,  come,  Tom.  You  might  have  read  more  cer- 
tainly, witli  benefit  to  yourself  and  the  college,  and  taken 
a  higher  degree.  But,  after  all,  didn't  the  place  do  you  a 
great  deal  of  good  ?  and  you  didn't  do  it  much  harm.  I 
don't  like  to  see  you  in  this  sort  of  gloomy  state  ;  it  isn't 
natural  to  you." 

"  It  is  becoming  natural.     You  haven't  seen  much  of 


356  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

me  during  the  last  year,  or  you  would  have  remarked  it. 
And  then,  as  I  tell  you,  Oxford,  when  one  has  nothing  to 
do  in  it  but  to  moon  about,  thinking  over  one's  past  tollies 
and  sins,  isn't  cheerful.  It  never  was  a  very  cheerful 
place  to  me  at  the  best  of  times." 

"  Not  even  at  pulling  times  ?  " 

"  Well,  the  river  is  the  part  I  like  best  to  think  of. 
But  even  the  river  makes  me  rather  melancholy  now. 
One  feels  one  has  done  with  it." 

"  Why,  Tom,  I  believe  your  melancholy  comes  from 
their  not  having  asked  you  to  pull  in  the  boat." 

"  Perhaps  it  does.  Don't  you  call  it  degrading  to  be 
pulling  in  the  torpid  in  one's  old  age  ?  " 

"  Mortified  vanity,  man  !  They  have  a  capital  boat. 
I  wonder  how  we  should  have  liked  to  have  been  turned 
out  for  some  bachelor  just  because  he  had  pulled  a  good 
oar  in  his  day  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all.  I  don't  blame  the  young  ones,  and  I  hope 
I  do  my  duty  in  the  torpid.  By  the  way,  they're  an 
uncommonly  nice  set  of  youngsters.  Much  better  behaved 
in  every  way  than  we  were,  unless  it  is  that  they  put  on 
their  best  manners  before  me." 

'  "  No,  I  don't  think  they  do.  The  fact  is,  they  are 
really  fine  young  fellows." 

"  So  I  think.  And  I'll  tell  you  what,  Jack  ;  since  we 
are  sitting  and  talking  our  minds  to  one  another  at  last, 
like  old  times,  somebody  has  made  the  most  wonderful 
change  in  this  college.  I  rather  think  it  is  seeing  what 
St.  Ambrose's  is  now,  and  thinking  what  it  was  in  my 
time,  and  what  an  uncommon  member  of  society  I  should 
have  turned  out  if  I  had  had  the  luck  to  have  been  here 
now  instead  of  then,  that  makes  me  down  in  the  mouth  — • 
more  even  than  having  to  pull  in  the  torpid  instead  of  the 
racing  boat." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  357 

"  You  do  think  it  is  improved,  then  ?  " 

"  Think  !  Why  it  is  a  different  place  altogether  ;  and, 
as  you  are  the  only  new  tutor,  it  must  have  been  your 
doing.     Now,  I  want  to  know  your  secret." 

"  I've  no  secret,  except  taking  a  real  interest  in  all  that 
the  men  do,  and  living  with  them  as  much  as  I  can.  You 
may  fancy  it  isn't  much  of  a  trial  to  me  to  steer  the  boat 
down,  or  run  on  the  bank  and  coach  the  crew." 

"  Ah  !  I  remember ;  you  were  beginning  that  before  I 
left,  in  your  first  year.     I  knew  that  would  answer." 

"  Yes.  The  fact  is,  I  find  that  just  what  I  like  best  is 
the  very  best  thing  for  the  men.  With  very  few  excep- 
tions they  are  all  glad  to  be  stirred  up,  and  meet  me 
nearly  half-way  in  reading,  and  three-quarters  in  every 
thing  else.  I  believe  they  would  make  me  captain  to- 
morrow." 

"  And  why  don't  you  let  them,  then  ?  " 

"  No  ;  there's  a  time  for  every  thing.  I  go  in  in  the 
scratch  fours  for  the  pewters,  and  —  more  by  token  —  my 
crew  won  them  two  years  running.  Look  at  my  trophies," 
and  he  pointed  to  two  pewter  pots,  engraved  with  the  col- 
lege arms,  which  stood  on  his  sideboard. 

"  Well,  I  dare  say  you're  right.  But  what  does  the 
president  say  ?  " 

"  01),  he  is  a  convert.  Didn't  you  see  him  on  the  bank 
when  you  torpids  made  your  bump  the  other  night  ?  " 

"  No,  you  don't  mean  it  ?  Well,  do  you  know,  a  sort 
of  vision  of  black  tights,  and  a  broad-brimmed  hat,  crossed 
me,  but  I  never  gave  it  a  second  thought.  And  so  the 
president  comes  out  to  see  the  St.  Ambrose  boat  row  ?  " 

"  Seldom  misses  two  nights  running." 

"  Then,  carry  me  out,  and  bury  me  decently.  Have 
you  seen  old  Tom  walking  round  Packwater  lately  on 


858  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

his  clapper,  smoking  a  cigar  with  the  Dean  of  Christ- 
church  ?  Don't  be  afraid.  I  am  ready  for  any  thing  you 
like  to  tell  me.  Draw  any  amount  you  like  on  my  faith ; 
I  shall  honor  the  draft  after  that." 

"  The  president  isn't  a  bad  judge  of  an  oar,  when  he 
sets  his  mind  to  it." 

"  Isn't  he  ?     But,  I  say,  Jack,  —  no  sell,  —  how  in  the 
world  did  it  happen  ?  " 

"  I  believe  it  happened  chiefly  through  his  talks  with 
me.  When  I  was  first  made  tutor  he  sent  for  me  and . 
told  me  he  had  heard  I  encouraged  the  young  men  in 
boating,  and  he  must  positively  forbid  it.  I  didn't  much 
care  about  staying  up ;  so  I  was  pretty  plain  with  him, 
and  said  if  I  was  not  allowed  to  take  the  line  I  thought 
best  in  such  matters  I  must  resign  at  the  end  of  term.  lie 
assented,  but  afterwards  thought  better  of  it,  and  sent  for 
me  again,  and  we  had  several  encounters.  I  took  my 
ground  very  civilly  but  firmly,  and  he  had  to  give  up  one 
objection  after  another.  I  think  the  turning-point  was 
when  he  quoted  St.  Paul  on  me,  and  said  I  was  teaching 
boys  to  worship  physical  strength,  instead  of  teaching 
them  to  keep  under  their  bodies  and  bring  them  into  sub- 
jection. Of  course  I  countered  him  there  with  tremen- 
dous effect.  The  old  boy  took  it  very  well,  only  saying 
he  feared  it  was  no  use  to  argue  further  —  in  this  matter 
of  boat-racing  he  had  come  to  a  conclusion,  not  without 
serious  thought,  many  years  before.  However,  he  came 
round  quietly.  And  so  he  has  on  other  points.  In  fact, 
he  is  a  wonderfully  open-minded  man  for  his  age,  if  you 
only  put  things  to  him  the  right  way." 

"  Has  he  come  round  about  gentlemen-commoners  ?     I 
see  you've  only  two  or  three  up." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  359 

"  Yes.  We  haven't  given  up  taking  them  altogether. 
I  hope  that  may  come  soon.  But  I  and  another  tutor 
took  to  plucking  them  ruthlessly  at  matriculation,  unless 
they  were  quite  up  to  the  commoner  standard.  The  con- 
sequence was,  a  row  in  common  room.  We  stood  out,  and 
won.  Luckily,  as  you  know,  it  has  always  been  given 
out  here  that  all  undergraduates,  gentlemen-commoners, 
and  commoners,  have  to  pass  the  same  college  examina- 
tions, and  to  attend  the  same  courses  of  lectures.  You 
know  also  what  a  mere  sham  and  pretence  the  rule  had 
become.  Well,  we  simply  made  a  reality  of  it,  and  in 
answer  to  all  objectors  said,  Is  it  our  rule  or  not  ?  If  it 
is,  we  are  bound  to  act  on  it.  If  you  want  to  alter  it, 
there  are  the  regular  ways  of  doing  so.  After  a  little 
grumbling  they  let  us  have  our  way,  and  the  consequence 
is,  that  velvet  is  getting  scarce  at  St.  Ambrose." 

"  What  a  blessing !  What  other  miracles  have  you 
been  performing  ?  " 

"  The  best  reform  we  have  carried  is  throwing  the 
kitchen  and  cellar  open  to  the  undergraduates." 

"  W-h-e-w  !  That's  just  the  sort  of  reform  Ave  should 
have  appreciated.  Fancy  Drysdale's  lot  with  the  key  of 
the  college  cellars,  at  about  ten  o'clock  on  a  shiny  night." 

"  You  don't  quite  understand  the  reform.  You  remem- 
ber, when  you  were  an  undergraduate  you  couldn't  give 
a  dinner  in  college,  and  you  had  to  buy  your  wine  any- 
where ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  awful  firewater  we  used  to  get.  The  gov- 
ernor supplied  me,  like  a  wise  man." 

"  Well,  we  have  placed  the  college  in  the  relation  of 
benevolent  father.  Every  undergraduate  now  can  give 
two  dinners  a  term  in  his  own  room,  from  the  kitchen  ;  or 
m:>rc,  if  he  comes  and  asks,  and  has  any  reason  to  give. 


SCO  TOM    BUOWN    AT    OXFORD. 

We  take  care  that  they  have  a  good  dinner  at  a  reason- 
able rate,  and  the  men  are  delighted  with  the  arrange- 
ment. I  don't  believe  there  are  three  men  in  the  college 
now  who  have  hotel  bills.  And  we  let  them  have  all 
their  wine  out  of  the  college  cellars." 

"  That's  what  I  call  good  common-sense.  Of  course  it 
must  answer  in  every  way.  And  you  find  they  all  come 
to  you  ?  " 

"  Almost  all.  They  can't  get  any  thing  like  the  wine 
we  give  them  at  the  price,  and  they  know  it." 

"  Do  you  make  them  pay  ready  money  ?  " 

"  The  dinners  and  wine  are  charged  in  their  battel 
bills ;  so  they  have  to  pay  once  a  term,  just  as  they  do 
for  their  ordinary  commons." 

"  It  must  swell  their  battel  bills  awfully." 

"  Yes,  but  battel  bills  always  come  in  at  the  beginning 
of  term,  when  they  are  flush  of  money.  Besides,  they  all 
know  that  battel  bills  must  be  paid.  In  a  small  way  it  is 
the  best  thing  that  ever  was  done  for  St.  Ambrose's.  You 
see  it  cuts  so  many  ways.  Keeps  men  in  college,  knocks 
off"  the  most  objectionable  bills  at  inns  and  pastry-cooks, 
keeps  them  from  being  poisoned,  makes  them  pay  their 
bills  regularly,  shows  them  that  we  like  them  to  be  able 
to  live  like  gentlemen — " 

"  And  lets  you  dons  know  what  they  are  all  about,  and 
how  much  they  spend  in  the  way  of  entertaining." 

"  Yes ;  and  a  very  good  thing  for  them  too.  They 
know  that  we  shall  not  interfere  while  they  behave  like 
gentlemen." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  objecting.   And  was  this  your  doing  too  ?  " 

"  No  ;  a  joint  business.  We  hatched  it  in  the  common 
room,  and  then  the  bursar  spoke  to  the  president,  who  was 
furious,  and  said  we  were  giving  the  sanction  of  the  col- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  3G1 

lege  to  disgraceful  luxury  and  extravagance.  Luckily,  lie 
had  not  the  power  of  stopping  us,  and  now  is  convinced." 

"  The  goddess  of  common-sense  seems  to  have  alighted 
again  in  the  quad  of  St.  Ambrose.  You'll  never  leave 
the  place,  Jack,  now  you're  beginning  to  get  every  thing 
your  own  way." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  don't  mean  to  stop  up  more  than 
another  year  at  the  outside.  I  have  been  tutor  nearly 
three  years  now ;  that's  about  long  enough." 

"  Do  you  think  you're  right  ?  You  seem  to  have  hit 
on  your  line  in  life  wonderfully.  You  like  the  work,  and 
the  work  likes  you.  You  are  doing  a  heap  of  good  up 
here.  You'll  be  president  in  a  year  or  two,  depend  on  it. 
I  should  say  you  had  better  stick  to  Oxford." 

"  No.  I  should  be  of  no  use  in  a  year  or  two.  "We 
want  a  constant  current  of  fresh  blood  here." 

"  In  a  general  way.  But  you  don't  get  a  man  every 
day  who  can  throw  himself  into  the  men's  pursuits,  and 
can  get  hold  of  them  in  the  right  way.  And  then,  after 
all,  when  a  fellow  has  got  such  work  cut  out  for  him  as 
you  have,  Oxford  must  be  an  uncommonly  pleasant  place 
to  live  in." 

"  Pleasant  enough  in  many  ways.  But  you  seem  to 
have  forgotten  how  you  used  to  rail  against  it." 

"  Yes.  Because  I  never  hit  off  the  right  ways  of  the 
place.  But,  if  I  had  taken  a  first  and  got  a  fellowship,  I 
should  like  it  well  enough,  I  dare  say." 

"  Being  a  fellow,  on  the  contrary,  makes  it  worse. 
While  one  was  an  undergraduate  one  could  feel  virtuous 
and  indignant  at  the  vices  of  Oxford,  at  least  at  those 
which  one  did  not  indulge  in,  particularly  at  the  flunkey- 
ism  and  money-worship  which  are  our  most  prevalent  and 
disgraceful  sins.  But  when  one  is  a  fellow,  it  is  quite 
31 


862  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

another  affair.  They  become  a  sore  burden  then,  enough 
to  break  one's  heart." 

"  Why,  Jack,  we're  changing  characters  to-night.  Fancy 
your  coming  out  in  the  abusive  line !  Why,  I  never  said 
harder  things  of  Alma  Mater  myself.  However,  there's 
plenty  of  flunkey  ism  and  money-worship  everywhere 
else." 

"  Yes  ;  but  it  is  not  so  heart-breaking  in  other  places. 
When  one  thinks  what  a  great  centre  of  learning  and 
faith  like  Oxford  ought  to  be  —  that  its  highest  educa- 
tional work  should  just  be  the  deliverance  of  us  all  from 
flunkeyism  and  money-worship  —  and  then  looks  at  mat- 
ters here  without  rose-colored  spectacles,  it  gives  one 
sometimes  a  sort  of  chilly  leaden  despondency,  which  is 
very  hard  to  struggle  against." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  like  that,  Jack,  for  one 
can't  help  loving  the  place  after  all." 

"  So  I  do,  God  knows.  If  I  didn't  I  shouldn't  care  for 
its  shortcomings." 

"  Well,  the  flunkeyism  and  money-worship  were  bad 
enough,  but  I  don't  think  they  were  the  worst  things  —  at 
least  not  in  my  day.  Our  neglects  were  almost  worse 
than  our  worships." 

"  You  mean  the  want  of  all  reverence  for  parents  ? 
Well,  perhaps  that  lies  at  the  root  of  the  false  worships. 
They  spring  up  on  the  vacant  soil." 

"  And  the  want  of  reverence  for  women,  Jack.  The 
worst  of  all,  to  my  mind  !  " 

"  Perhaps  you  are  right.  But  we  are  not  at  the  bottom 
yet." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  we  must  worship  God  before  we  can 
reverence  parents  or  women,  or  rout  out  flunkeyism  and 
money -worship." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  363 

"  Yes.  But  after  all,  can  we  fairly  lay  that  sin  on  Ox- 
ford ?  Surely,  whatever  may  be  growing  up  side  by  side 
with  it,  there's  more  Christianity  here  than  almost  any- 
where else." 

"  Plenty  of  common-room  Christianity  —  belief  in  a 
dead  God.  There,  I  have  never  said  it  to  any  one  but 
you,  but  that  is  the  slough  we  have  to  get  out  of.  Don't 
think  that  I  despair  for  us.  We  shall  do  it  yet ;  but  it 
will  be  sore  work,  stripping  off  the  comfortable  wine-party 
religion  in  which  we  are  wrapped  up  —  work  for  our 
strongest  and  our  wisest." 

"  And  yet  you  think  of  leaving  ?  " 

"  There  are  other  reasons.  I  will  tell  you  some  day. 
But  now,  to  turn  to  other  matters,  how  have  you  been 
getting  on  this  last  year  ?  You  write  so  seldom  that  I  am 
all  behindhand." 

"  Oh,  much  the  same  as  usual." 

"  Then  you  are  still  like  one  of  those  who  went  out  to 
David  ?  " 

"  No,  I'm  not  in  debt." 

"  But  discontented  ?  " 

"  Pretty  much  like  you  there,  Jack.  However,  content 
is  no  virtue,  that  I  can  see,  while  there's  any  thing  to 
mend.  Who  is  going  to  be  contented  with  game-preserv- 
ing, and  corn-laws,  and  grinding  the  faces  of  the  poor  ? 
David's  camp  was  a  better  place  than  Saul's,  any  day?" 

Hardy  got  up,  opened  a  drawer,  and  took  out  a  bundle 
of  papers,  which  Tom  recognized  as  the  Wesscx  Freeman. 
He  felt  rather  uncomfortable,  as  his  friend  seated  himself 
again,  and  began  looking  them  over. 

"  You  see  what  I  have  here  ?"  he  said.     Tom  nodded. 

"  Well,  there  are  some  of  the  articles  I  should  like  to 
ask  you  about,  if  you  don't  object." 

"  No ;  go  on." 


36d  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Here  is  one,  then,  to  begin  with.  I  wont  read  it  all. 
Let  me  see  ;  here  is  what  I  was  looking  for,"  and  he 
began  reading :  " '  One  would  think,  to  hear  these  land- 
lords, our  rulers,  talk,  that  the  glorious  green  fields,  the 
deep  woods,  the  everlasting  hills,  and  the  rivers  that  run 
among  them,  were  made  for  the  sole  purpose  of  minister- 
ing to  their  greedy  lusts  and  mean  ambitions ;  that  they 
may  roll  out  amongst  unrealities  their  pitiful  mock  lives, 
from  their  silk  and  lace  cradles  to  their  spangled  coffins, 
studded  with  silver  knobs,  and  lying  coats  of  arms,  reaping 
where  they  have  not  sown,  and  gathering  where  they 
have  not  strewed  ;  making  the  omer  small  and  the  ephah 
great,  that  they  may  sell  the  refuse  of  the  wheat  — ' " 

"  That'll  do,  Jack.    But  what's  the  date  of  that  paper  ?  " 

"  July  last.     Is  it  yours,  then  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  I  allow  it's  too  strong  and  one-sided.  I 
have  given  up  writing  altogether ;  will  that  satisfy  you  ? 
I  don't  see  my  own  way  clear  enough  yet,  but  for  all  that, 
I'm  not  ashamed  of  what  I  wrote  in  that  paper." 

"  I  have  nothing  more  to  say  after  that,  except  that 
I'm  heartily  glad  you  have  given  up  writing  for  the  pres- 
ent." 

"  But,  I  say,  old  fellow,  how  did  you  get  these  papers, 
and  know  about  my  articles  ?  " 

"  They  were  sent  me.  Shall  I  burn  them  now,  or 
would  you  like  to  have  them  ?  We  needn't  say  any  thing 
more  about  them." 

"  Burn  them,  by  all  means.  I  suppose  a  friend  sent 
them  to  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  so."  Hardy  went  on  burning  the  papers  in 
silence  ;  and,  as  Tom  watched  him,  a  sudden  light  seemed 
to  break  upon  him. 

"  I  say,  Jack,"  he  said,  presently,  "  a  little  bird  has 
been  whispering   something   to   me  about   that   friend." 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  365 

Hardy  winced  a  little,  and  redoubled  his  diligence  in 
burning  the  papers.  Tom.  looked  on  smiling,  and  think- 
ing how  to  go  on  now  that  he  had  so  unexpectedly  turned 
the  tables  on  his  monitor,  when  the  clock  struck  twelve. 

"  Hullo  !  "  he  said,  getting  up  ;  "  time  for  me  to  knock 
out,  or  old  Copas  will  be  in  bed.  To  go  back  to  where 
we  started  from  to-night  —  as  soon  as  East  and  Harry 
Winburn  get  back  we  shall  have  some  jolly  doings  at 
Englebourn.  There'll  be  a  wedding,  I  hope,  and  you'll 
come  over  and  do  parson  for  us,  wont  you  ?  " 
"  You  mean  for  Patty  ?  Of  course  I  will." 
"  The  little  bird  whispered  to  me  that  you  wouldn't  dis- 
like visiting  that  part  of  the  old  county.  Good-night, 
Jack.  I  wish  you  success,  old  fellow,  with  all  my  heart, 
and  I  hope  after  all  that  you  may  leave  St.  Ambrose'^ 
within  the  year." 

31* 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

FROM    INDIA    TO     ENGLEBOURN. 

If  a  knowledge  of  contemporary  history  must  be 
reckoned  as  an  important  element  in  the  civilization  of 
any  people,  then  I  am  afraid  that  the  good  folk  of  Engle- 
bourn  must  have  been  content,  in  the  days  of  our  story, 
with  a  very  low  place  on  the  ladder.  How,  indeed,  was 
knowledge  to  percolate,  so  as  to  reach  down  to  the  foun- 
dations of  Englebournian  society  —  the  stratum  upon 
which  all  others  rest  —  the  common  agricultural  laborer, 
producer  of  corn,  and  other  grain,  the  careful  and  stolid 
nurse  and  guardian  of  youthful  oxen,  sheep,  and  pigs,  — 
many  of  them  far  better  fed  and  housed  than  his  own 
children  ?  All-penetrating  as  she  is,  one  cannot  help 
wondering  that  she  did  not  give  up  Englebourn  alto- 
gether as  a  hopeless  job. 

So  far  as  written  periodical  instruction  is  concerned 
(with  the  exception  of  the  Quarterly,  which  Dr.  Winter 
had  taken  in  from  its  commencement,  but  rarely  opened), 
the  supply  was  limited  to  at  most  half  a  dozen  weekly 
papers.  A  London  journal,  sound  in  church  and  state 
principles,  most  respectable  but  not  otherwise  than  heavy, 
came  every  Saturday  to  the  Rectory.  The  Conservative 
county  paper  was  taken  in  at  the  Red  Lion ;  and  David 
the  constable,  and  the  blacksmith,  clubbed  together  to 
purchase  the  Liberal  paper,  by  help  of  which  they 
managed  to  wage  unequal  war  with  the  knot  of  village 
quidnuncs,  who  assembled  almost  nightly  at  the  bar  of 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  367 

the  Tory  beast  above  referred  to,  —  that  king  of  beasts, 
red  indeed  in  color,  but  of  the  truest  blue  in  political 
principle.  Besides  these,  perhaps  three  or  four  more 
papers  were  taken  by  the  farmers.  But,  scanty  as  the 
food  was,  it  was  quite  enough  for  the  mouths ;  indeed, 
when  the  papers  once  passed  out  of  the  parlors,  they  had 
for  the  most  part  performed  their  mission.  Few  of  the 
farm-servants,  male  or  female,  had  curiosity  or  scholar- 
ship enough  to  spell  through  the  dreary  columns. 

And  oral  teaching  was  not  much  more  plentiful,  as  how 
was  it  likely  to  be  ?  Englebourn  was  situated  on  no 
trunk  road,  and  the  amount  of  intercourse  between  it  and 
the  rest  of  the  world  was  of  the  most  limited  kind.  The 
rector  never  left  home ;  the  curate  at  rare  intervals. 
Most  of  the  farmers  went  to  market  once  a  week,  and 
dined  at  their  ordinary,  discussing  county  politics  after 
their  manner,  but  bringing  home  little,  except  as  much 
food  and  drink  as  they  could  cleverly  carry.  The  carrier 
went  to  and  from  Newbury  once  a  week ;  but  he  was  a 
silent  man,  chiefly  bent  on  collecting  and  selling  butter. 
The  postman,  who  was  deaf,  only  went  as  far  as  the  next 
village.  The  wagoners  drove  their  masters'  produce  to 
market  from  time  to  time,  and  boozed  away  an  hour  or 
two  in  the  kitchen,  or  tap,  or  skittle-alley,  of  some  small 
public-house  in  the  nearest  town,  while  their  horses 
rested.  With  the  above  exceptions,  probably  not  one  of 
the  villagers  strayed  ten  miles  from  home,  from  year's 
end  to  year's  end.  As  to  visitors,  an  occasional  pedler 
or  small  commercial  traveller  turned  up  about  once  a 
quarter.  A  few  boy3  and  girls,  more  enterprising  than 
their  fellows,  went  out  altogether  into  the  world,  of  their 
own  accord,  in  the  course  of  the  year ;  and  an  occasional 
burly  ploughboy,  or  carter's  boy,  was  entrapped  into 
taking   the   queen's  shilling   by   some   subtle    recruiting 


3G8  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

sergeant.  But  few  of  these  were  seen  again,  except  at 
long  intervals.  The  yearly  village  feasts,  harvest  homes, 
or  a  meet  of  the  hounds  on  Englehourn  Common,  were 
the  most  exciting  events  which  in  an  ordinary  way  stirred 
the  surface  of  Englebourn  life  ;  only  faintest  and  most 
distant  murmurs  of  the  din  and  strife  of  the  great  outer 
world,  of  wars,  and  rumors  of  wars,  the  fall  of  govern- 
ments and  the  throes  of  nations,  reached  that  primitive, 
out-of-the-way  little  village. 

A  change  was  already  showing  itself  since  Miss  "Winter 
had  been  old  enough  to  look  after  the  schools.  The 
waters  were  beginning  to  stir ;  and  by  this  time,  no  doubt, 
the  parish  boasts  a  regular  book-hawker  and  reading- 
room  ;  but  at  that  day  Englebourn  was  like  one  of  those 
small  ponds  you  may  find  in  some  nook  of  a  hill-side, 
the  banks  grown  over  with  underwood,  to  which  neither 
man  nor  beast,  scarcely  the  winds  of  heaven,  have  any 
access.  When  you  have  found  such  a  pond  you  may 
create  a  great  excitement  amongst  the  easy-going  newts 
and  frogs  who  inhabit  it,  by  throwing  in  a  pebble.  The 
splash  in  itself  is  a  small  splash  enough,  and  the  waves 
which  circle  away  from  it  are  very  tiny  waves,  but  they 
move  over  the  whole  face  of  the  pond,  and  are  of  more 
interest  to  the  frogs  than  a  nor-wester  in  the  Atlantic. 

So  the  approaching  return  of  Harry  Winburn,  and 
the  story  of  his  doings  at  the  wars,  and  of  the  wonderful 
things  he  had  sent  home,  stirred  Englebourn  to  its  depths. 
In  that  small  corner  of  the  earth  the  sergeant  was  of 
far  more  importance  than  governor-general  and  com- 
mander-in-chief. In  fact,  it  was  probably  the  common 
belief  that  he  was  somehow  the  head  of  the  whole  busi- 
ness ;  and  India,  the  war,  and  all  that  hung  thereon,  were 
looked  at  and  cared  for  only  as  they  had  served  to  bring 
him  out.      So  careless  were  the  good  folk  about  every 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  369 

thing  in  the  matter  except  their  own  hero,  and  so  won- 
derful were  the  romances  which  soon  got  abroad  about 
him,  that  Miss  Winter,  tired  of  explaining  again  and 
again  to  the  old  women  without  the  slightest  effect  on  the 
parochial  faith,  bethought  her  of  having  a  lecture  on  the 
subject  of  India  and  the  war  in  the  parish  school-room. 

Full  of  this  idea,  she  wrote  off  to  Tom,  who  was  the 
medium  of  communication  on  Indian  matters,  and  pro- 
pounded it  to  him.  The  difficulty  was,  that  Mr.  AValker 
the  curate,  the  only  person  competent  to  give  it,  was  going 
away  directly  for  a  three  weeks'  holiday,  having  arranged 
with  two  neighboring  curates  to  take  his  Sunday  duty  for 
him.  "What  was  to  be  done  ?  Harry  might  be  back  any 
day,  it  seemed ;  so  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost.  Could 
Tom  come  himself,  and  help  her  ? 

Tom  could  not;  but  he  wrote  back  to  say  that  his 
friend  Hardy  was  just  getting  away  from  Oxford  for  the 
long  vacation,  and  would  gladly  take  Mr.  Walker's  duty 
for  the  three  weeks,  if  Dr.  Winter  approved,  on  his  way 
home ;  by  which  arrangement  Englebourn  would  not  be 
without  an  efficient  parson  on  week  days,  and  she  would 
have  the  man  of  all  others  to  help  her  in  utilizing  the 
sergeant's  history  for  the  instruction  of  the  bucolic  mind. 
The  arrangement,  moreover,  would  be  particularly  happy, 
because  Hardy  had  already  promised  to  perform  the  mar- 
riage ceremony,  which  Tom  and  she  had  settled  would 
take  place  at  the  earliest  possible  moment  after  the  return 
of  the  Indian  heroes. 

Dr.  Winter  was  very  glad  to  accept  the  offer ;  and  so, 
when  they  parted  at  Oxford,  Hardy  went  to  Englebourn, 
where  we  must  leave  him  for  the  present.  Tom  went 
home  —  whence,  in  a  few  days,  he  had  to  hurry  down  to 
Southampton  to  meet  the  two  Harrys.  He  was  much 
shocked  at  first  to  see  the  state  of  his  old  schoolfellow. 


370  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

East  looked  haggard  and  pale  in  the  face,  notwithstanding 
the  sea-voyage.  His  clothes  hung  on  him  as  if  they  had 
been  made  for  a  man  of  twice  his  size,  and  he  walked 
with  difficulty  by  the  help  of  a  large  stick.  But  he  had 
lost  none  of  his  indomitableness,  laughed  at  Tom's  long 
face,  and  declared  that  he  felt  himself  getting  better  and 
stronger  every  day. 

"  If  you  had  only  seen  me  at  Calcutta,  you  would  sing 
a  different  song,  eh,  Winburn  ?  " 

Harry  Winburn  was  much  changed,  and  had  acquired 
all  the  composed  and  self-reliant  look  which  is  so  remark- 
able in  a  good  non-commissioned  officer.  Readiness  to 
obey  and  command  was  stamped  on  every  line  of  his 
face ;  but  it  required  all  his  powers  of  self-restraint  to 
keep  within  bounds  his  delight  at  getting  home  again. 
His  wound  was  quite  healed,  and  his  health  re-established 
by  the  voyage ;  and,  when  Tom  saw  how  wonderfully  his 
manners  and  carriage  were  improved,  and  how  easily  his 
uniform  sat  on  him,  he  felt  quite  sure  that  all  would  be 
soon  right  at  Englebourn,  and  that  Katie  and  he  would 
be  justified  in  their  prophecies  and  preparations.  The 
invalids  had  to  report  themselves  in  London,  and  thither 
the  three  proceeded  together.  When  this  was  done, 
Harry  Winburn  was  sent  off  at  once.  He  resisted  at 
first,  and  begged  to  be  allowed  to  stay  with  his  captain 
until  the  captain  could  go  into  Berkshire  himself.  But 
he  was  by  this  time  too  much  accustomed  to  discipline 
not  to  obey  a  positive  order,  and  was  comforted  by  Tom's 
assurance  that  he  would  not  leave  East,  and  would  do 
every  thing  for  him  which  the  sergeant  had  been  ac- 
customed to  do. 

Three  days  later,  as  East  and  Tom  were  sitting  at 
breakfast,  a  short  note  came  from  Miss  Winter,  telling  of 
Harry's  arrival  —  how  the  bells  were  set  ringing  to  wel- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  371 

come  him ;  how  Mr.  Hardy  had  preached  the  most  won- 
derful sermon  on  his  story  the  next  day  ;  above  all,  how 
Patty  had  surrendered  at  discretion,  and  the  banns  had 
been  called  for  the  first  time.  So  the  sooner  they  would 
come  down  the  better  —  as  it  was  very  important  that  no 
time  should  be  lost,  lest  some  of  the  old  jealousies  and 
quarrels  should  break  out  again.  Upon  reading  and  con- 
sidering which  letter,  East  resolved  to  start  for  Engle- 
bourn  at  once,  and  Tom  to  accompany  him. 

There  was  one  person  to  whom  Harry's  return  and 
approaching  wedding  was  a  subject  of  unmixed  joy  and 
triumph,  and  that  was  David  the  constable.  He  had 
always  been  a  sincere  friend  to  Harry,  and  had  stood  up 
for  him  when  all  the  parish  respectabilities  had  turned 
against  him,  and  had  prophesied  that  he  would  live  to  be 
a  credit  to  the  place.  So  now  David  felt  himself  an  inch 
higher  as  he  saw  Harry  walking  about  in  his  uniform 
with  his  sweetheart,  the  admiration  of  all  Englebourn. 
But,  besides  all  the  unselfish  pleasure  which  David 
enjoyed  on  his  young  friend's  account,  a  little  piece  of 
private  and  personal  gratification  came  to  him  on  his  own. 
Ever  since  Harry's  courtship  had  begun  David  had  felt 
himself  in  a  false  position  towards,  and  had  suffered  under, 
old  Simon,  the  rector's  gardener.  The  necessity  for 
keeping  the  old  man  in  good  humor  for  Harry's  sake  had 
always  been  present  to  the  constable's  mind ;  and,  for  the 
privilege  of  putting  in  a  good  word  for  his  favorite  every 
now  and  then,  he  had  allowed  old  Simon  to  assume  an 
air  of  superiority  over  him,  and  to  trample  upon  him  and 
dogmatize  to  him,  even  in  the  matters  of  flowers  and  bees. 
This  had  been  the  more  galling  to  David  on  account  of 
old  Simon's  intolerant  Toryism,  which  the  constable's  soul 
rebelled  against,  except  in  the  matter  of  church  music. 
On  this  one  point  they  agreed,  but  even  here  Simon  man- 


372  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

aged  to  be  unpleasant.  He  would  lay  the  whole  blame 
of  the  changes  which  had  been  effected  upon  David, 
accusing  him  of  having  given  in  when  there  was  no  need. 
As  there  was  nothing  but  a  wall  between  the  Rectory 
garden  and  David's  little  strip  of  ground,  in  which  he 
spent  all  his  leisure  time,  until  the  shades  of  evening  sum- 
moned him  to  the  bar  of  the  Red  Lion  for  his  daily  pint 
and  pipe,  the  two  were  constantly  within  hearing  of  one 
another,  and  Simon,  in  times  past,  had  seldom  neglected 
an  opportunity  of  making  himself  disagreeable  to  his  long- 
suffering  neighbor. 

But  now  David  was  a  free  man  again ;  and  he  took 
the  earliest  occasion  of  making  the  change  in  his  manner 
apparent  to  Simon,  and  of  getting,  as  he  called  it,  "  up- 
sides "  with  him.  One  would  have  thoughf,  to  look  at  him, 
that  the  old  gardener  was  as  pachydermatous  as  a  rhi- 
noceros ;  but  somehow  he  seemed  to  feel  that  things  had 
changed  between  them,  and  did  not  appreciate  an  inter- 
view with  David  now  nearly  so  much  as  of  old.  So  he 
found  very  little  to  do  in  that  part  of  the  garden  which 
abutted  on  the  constable's  premises.  When  he  could  not 
help  working  there,  he  chose  the  times  at  which  David 
was  most  likely  to  be  engaged,  or  even  took  the  trouble 
to  ascertain  that  he  was  not  at  home. 

Early  on  Midsummer-day,  old  Simon  reared  his  ladder 
against  the  boundary  wall,  with  the  view  of  "  doctorin' " 
some  of  the  fruit  trees,  relying  on  a  parish  meeting,  at 
which  the  constable's  presence  was  required.  But  he  had 
not  more  than  half  finished  his  operations  before  David 
returned  from  vestry,  and,  catching  sight  of  the  top  of  the 
ladder  and  Simon's  head  above  the  wall,  laid  aside  all 
other  business,  and  descended  into  the  garden. 

Simon  kept  on  at  his  work,  only  replying  by  a  jerk  of 
the  head  and  one  of  his  grunts  to  his  neighbor's  salu- 
tation. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  373 

David  took  his  coat  off,  and  his  pruning-knife  out,  and, 
establishing  himself  within  easy  shot  of  his  old  oppressor, 
opened  fire  at  once, — 

"  Thou'st  gi'en  thy  consent  then  ?  " 

"  'Tis  no  odds,  consent  or  none — her's  old  enough  to 
hev  her  own  waay." 

"  But  thou'st  gi'en  thy  consent  ?  " 

"  Ees,  then,  if  thou  wilt  hev't,"  said  Simon,  surlily ; 
"wut  then?" 

"  So  I  heerd,"  said  David,  indulging  in  an  audible 
chuckle. 

"  What  bist  a  laughin'  at  ?  " 

"  I  be  laughin'  to  think  how  folks  changes.  Do'st  mind 
the  hard  things  as  thou  hast  judged  and  said  o'  Harry  ? 
Not  as  ever  I  Known  thy  judgment  to  be  o'  much  account, 
'cept  about  roots.  But  thou  saidst,  times  and  times,  as  a 
would  come  to  the  gallows." 

"  So  a  med  yet — so  a  med  yet,"  answered  Simon. 
"  Not  but  wut  I  wishes  well  to  un,  and  bears  no  grudges  ; 
but  others  as  hev  got  the  law  ov  un  medn't." 

"  'Tis  he  as  hev  got  grudges  to  bear.  He  don't  need 
none  o'  thy  forgiveness." 

"  Pr'aps  a  medn't.  But  hev  'em  got  the  law  ov  un,  or 
hevn't  'em  ?" 

"  Wut  do'st  mean  :  got  the  law  ov  un  ?  " 

"  Thaay  warrants  as  wur  out  agen  un,  along  wi'  the 
rest  as  was  transpworted  auver  Farmer  Tester's  job." 

"  01),  he've  got  no  call  to  be  afeard  o'  thaay  now.  Thou 
know'^t  I  hears  how  'tis  laid  down  at  Sessions  and  'Sizes, 
wher'  I've  a  been  this  twenty  year." 

"  Like  enuff.  Only,  wut's  to  hinder  thaay  tryin'  ov  un, 
if  thaay  be  minded  to't?     That's  wut  I  wants  to   know." 

"  'Tis  wut  the  counsellors  calls  the  Statut  o'  Lamenta- 
tions," said  the  constable,  proudly. 
32 


374  TOM   BttOWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Wutever's  Lamentations  got  to  do  wi't  ?  " 

"  A  gurt  deal,  I  tell  'ee.  What  do'st  thou  know  o' 
Lamentations  ?  " 

"  Lamentations  cums  afore  Ezekiel  in  the  Bible." 

"  That  aint  no  kin  to  the  Statu t  o'  Lamentations.  But 
there's  summut  like  to't  in  the  Bible,"  said  the  constable, 
stopping  his  work  to  consider  a  moment.  "  Do'st  mind 
the  year  when  the  land  wur  all  to  be  guv  back  to  they 
as  owned  it  fust,  and  debts  wur  to  be  wiped  out?" 

"  Ees,  I  minds  summut  o'  that." 

"  Well,  this  here  statut  says,  if  so  be  as  a  man  hev  bin 
to  the  wars,  and  sarved  his  country  like,  as  nothin'  sha'n't 
be  reckoned  agen  he,  let  alone  murder :  nothin'  can't  do 
away  wi'  murder." 

"  No,  nor  oughtn't.  Hows'mdever,  you  seems  clear 
about  the  law  on't.     There's  miss  a  callin'." 

And  old  Simon's  head  disappeared  as  he  descended  the 
ladder  to  answer  the  summons  of  his  young  mistress,  not 
displeased  at  having  his  fears  as  to  the  safety  of  his  future 
son-in-law  set  at  rest  by  so  eminent  a  legal  authority  as 
the  constable.  Fortunately  for  Harry,  the  constable's 
law  was  not  destined  to  be  tried.  Young  Wurley  was 
away  in  London.  Old  Tester  was  bedridden  with  an 
accumulation  of  diseases  brought  on  by  his  bad  life.  His 
illness  made  him  more  violent  and  tyrannical  than  ever; 
but  he  could  do  little  harm  out  of  his  own  room,  for  no 
one  ever  went  to  see  him,  and  the  wretched  farm-servant 
who  attended  him  was  much  too  frightened  to  tell  him 
any  thing  of  what  was  going  on  in  the  parish.  There  was 
no  one  else  to  revive  proceedings  against  Harry. 

David  pottered  on  at  his  bees  and  his  flowers  till  old 
Simon  returned,  and  ascended  his  ladder  again. 

"  You  be  ther'  still,  be  'ee  ?  "  he  said,  as  soon  as  he  saw 
David. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  375 

"  Ees.     Any  news  ?  " 

"Ah,  news  enuff.  He  as  wur  Harry's  captain  and 
young  Mr.  Brown  be  comin'  down  to-morrow,  and  hev 
tuk  all  the  Red  Lion  to  theirselves.  And  thaay  beant 
content  to  wait  for  banns — not  thaay — and  so  ther's  to  be 
a  license  got  for  Saturday.  'Tain't  scarce  decent,  that 
'tain't." 

"  'Tis  best  to  get  drough  wi't,"  said  the  constable. 

"  Then  nothin'll  sarve  'em  but  the  church  must  be  hung 
wi'  flowers,  and  wher'  be  thaay  to  cum  from  without  strip- 
ping and  starving  ov  my  beds  ?  'Tis  shameful  to  see 
how  folks  acts  wi'  flowers  now-a-days,  a  cuttin'  on  'em 
and  puttin'  on  'em  about,  as  prodigal  as  though  thaay 
growed  o'  theirselves." 

"  So  'tis,  shameful,"  said  David,  whose  sympathies  for 
flowers  were  all  with  Simon.  "I  heers  tell  as  young 
Squire  Wurley  hevs  'em  on  table  at  dinner-time  instead 
o'  the  wittles." 

"  Do'ee  though !  I  calls  it  reg'lar  papistry,  and  so  I 
tells  miss  ;  but  her  only  laughs." 

The  constable  shook  his  head  solemnly  as  he  replied, 
"  Her've  been  led  away  wi'  such  doin's  ever  since  Mr. 
Walker  cum,  and  look  to  organ-playin'  and  chantin'." 

"  And  he  aint  no  sich  gurt  things  in  the  pulpit  neether, 
aint  Mr.  Walker,"  chimed  in  Simon  (the  two  had  not 
been  so  in  harmony  for  years).  "  I  reckon  as  he  aint 
nothin'  to  speak  ov  alongside  o'  this  here  new  un  as  hev 
tuk  his  place.     He've  got  a  deal  o'  move  in  un,  he  hev." 

"  Ah,  so  a  hev.  A  wunnerful  sight  o'  things  a  telled 
us  t'other  night  about  the  Indians  and  the  wars." 

"  Ah !  talking  cums  as  nat'ral  to  he  as  buttermilk  to  a 
litterin'  sow." 

"  Thou  should'st  a  heerd  un,  though,  about  the  battles 
I  can't  mind  the  names  on  'em  —  let  me  zee  — " 


376  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  dwun't  vally  the  neames,"  interrupted  Simon. 
u  They  makes  a  deal  o'  fuse  ouver't  aall,  but  I  dwunt  tek 
no  account  on't.  'Taint  like  the  owld  wars  and  fightin'  o' 
the  French,  this  here  fightin'  wi'  blackamooes,  let  'em 
talk  as  tbaay  wool." 

"  No  more  'tain't.  But  'twur  a  'mazin'  fine  talk  as  he 
gi'n  us.     Hev'ee  seed  ought  'twixt  he  and  young  missus  ?" 

"  Nothin'  out  o'  th'  common.  I  got  plenty  to  do  with- 
out lookin'  arter  the  women,  and  'tain't  no  bisness  o'  mine, 
nor  o'  thine  neether." 

David  was  preparing  a  stout  rejoinder  to  this  rebuke 
of  the  old  retainer  of  the  Winter  family  on  his  curiosity, 
but  was  summoned  by  his  wife  to  the  house  to  attend  a 
customer  ;  and  by  the  time  he  could  get  out  again  Simon 
had  disappeared. 

The  next  day  East  and  Tom  arrived,  and  took  posses- 
sion of  the  Red  Lion  ;  and  Englebourn  was  soon  in  a 
ferment  of  preparation  for  the  wedding.  East  was  not 
the  man  to  do  things  by  halves  ;  and,  seconded  as  he  was 
by  Miss  Winter  and  Hardy  and  Tom,  had  soon  made 
arrangements  for  all  sorts  of  merry-making.  The  school- 
children were  to  have  a  whole  holiday,  and,  after  scatter- 
ing flowers  at  church  and  marching  in  the  bridal  proces- 
sion, were  to  be  entertained  in  a  tent  pitched  in  the  home 
paddock  of  the  Rectory,  and  to  have  an  afternoon  of 
games  and  prizes,  and  tea  and  cake.  The  bell-ringers, 
Harry's  old  comrades,  were  to  have  five  shillings  apiece, 
and  a  cricket  match,  and  a  dinner  afterwards  at  the 
second  public-house,  to  which  any  other  of  his  old  friends 
whom  Harry  chose  to  ask  were  to  be  also  invited.  The 
old  men  and  women  were  to  be  fed  in  the  village  school- 
room ;  and  East  and  Tom  were  to  entertain  a  select  party 
of  the  farmers  and  tradesmen  at  the  Red  Lion,  the  tap  of 
which  hostelry  was  to  be  thrown  open  to  all  comers  at  the 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  377 

captain's  expense.  It  was  not  without  considerable 
demur  on  the  part  of  Miss  Winter  that  some  of  these 
indiscriminate  festivities  were  allowed  to  pass.  But  after 
consulting  with  Hardy  she  relented,  on  condition  that  the 
issue  of  beer  at  the  two  public-houses  should  be  put 
under  the  control  of  David  the  constable,  who,  on  his 
part,  promised  that  law  and  order  should  be  well  repre- 
sented and  maintained  on  the  occasion.  "  Arter  all,  miss, 
you  sees  'tis  only  for  once  in  a  waay,"  he  said,  "  and 
'twill  make  'em  remember  aal  as  hev  bin  said  to  'em 
about  the  Indians,  and  the  rest  on't."  So  the  captain 
and  his  abettors,  having  gained  the  constable  as  an  ally, 
prevailed ;  and  Englebourn,  much  wondering  at  itself, 
made  ready  for  a  general  holiday. 
32* 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

THE    WEDDING-DAT. 

One  —  more  —  poor  —  man  —  un-done  — 
One  —  more  —  poor  —  man  —  un-done. 

The  belfry-tower  rocked  and  reeled,  as  that  peal  rang 
out,  now  merry,  now  scornful,  now  plaintive,  from  those 
narrow  belfry  windows,  into  the  bosom  of  the  soft  south- 
west wind,  which  was  playing  round  the  old  gray  tower 
of  Englebourn  church.  And  the  wind  caught  the  peal 
and  played  with  it,  and  bore  it  away  over  Rectory  and  vil- 
lage street,  and  many  a  homestead,  and  gently  waving 
field  of  ripening  corn,  and  rich  pasture  and  Avater-meadow, 
and  tall  whispering  woods  of  the  Grange,  and  rolled 
it  against  the  hill-side,  and  up  the  slope  past  the  clump  of 
firs  on  the  Hawk's  Lynch,  till  it  died  away  on  the  wild 
stretches  of  common  beyond. 

The  ringers  bent  lustily  to  their  work.  There  had 
been  no  such  ringing  in  Englebourn  since  the  end  of  the 
great  war.  Not  content  with  the  usual  peal  out  of  church, 
they  came  back  again  and  again  in  the  afternoon,  full  of 
the  good  cheer  which  had  been  provided  for  them ;  and 
again  and  again  the  wedding-peal  rang  out  from  the  bel- 
fry in  honor  of  their  old  comrade  — 

One  —  more  —  poor  —  man  —  un-done  — 
One  —  more  —  poor  —  man  —  un-done. 

Such  was  the  ungallant  speech  which  for  many  gen- 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  379 

erations  had  been  attributed  to  the  Englebourn  weddinjr- 
bells ;  and  when  you  had  once  caught  the  words  —  as 
you  would  be  sure  to  do  from  some  wide-mouthed,  grin- 
ning boy,  lounging  over  the  churchyard  rails  to  see  the 
wedding  pass  —  it  would  be  impossible  to  persuade  your- 
self that  they  did,  in  fact,  say  any  thing  else.  Somehow, 
Harry  Winburn  bore  his  undoing  in  the  most  heroic  man- 
ner, and  did  his  duty  throughout  the  trying  day,  as  a  non- 
commissioned officer  and  bridegroom  should.  The  only 
part  of  the  performance  arranged  by  his  captain  which 
he  fairly  resisted,  was  the  proposed  departure  of  himself 
and  Patty  to  the  station  in  the  solitary  post-chaise  of  En- 
glebourn  —  a  real  old  yellow  —  with  a  pair  of  horses. 
East,  after  hearing  the  sergeant's  pleading  on  the  subject 
of  vehicles,  at  last  allowed  them  to  drive  off  in  a  tax-cart, 
taking  a  small  boy  with  them  behind,  to  bring  it  back. 

As  for  the  festivities,  they  went  off  without  a  hitch,  as 
such  affairs  will,  where  the  leaders  of  the  revels  have 
their  hearts  in  them.  The  children  had  all  played,  and 
romped,  and  eaten,  and  drunk  themselves  into  a  state  of 
torpor  by  an  early  hour  of  the  evening.  The  farmers' 
dinner  was  a  decided  success.  East  proposed  the  health 
of  the  bride  and  bridegroom,  and  was  followed  by  Farmer 
Grove  and  the  constable.  David  turned  out  in  a  new 
blue  swallow-tailed  coat,  with  metal  buttons,  of  his  own 
fabulous  cut,  in  honor  of  the  occasion.  He  and  the 
farmer  spoke  like  the  leader  of  the  Government  and  the 
Opposition  in  the  House  of  Commons  on  an  address  to 
the  Crown.  There  was  not  a  pin  to  choose  between  their 
speeches,  and  a  stranger  hearing  them  would  naturally 
have  concluded  that  Harry  had  never  been  any  thing  but 
the  model  boy  and  young  man  of  the  parish.  Fortu- 
nately, the  oratorical  powers  of  Englebourn  ended  here ; 
and  East,  and  the  majority  of  his  guests,  adjourned  to  the 


380  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

green  where  the  cricket  was  in  progress.  Each  game 
lasted  a  very  short  time  only,  as  the  youth  of  Englebourn 
were  not  experts  in  the  noble  science,  and  lost  their 
wickets  one  after  another  so  fast,  that  Tom  and  Hardy 
had  time  to  play  out  two  matches  with  them,  and  then  to 
retire  on  their  laurels,  while  the  afternoon  was  yet  young. 

The  old  folk  in  the  village  school-room  enjoyed  their 
beef  and  pudding,  under  the  special  superintendence  of 
Miss  Winter,  and  then  toddled  to  their  homes,  and  sat 
about  in  the  warmest  nooks  they  could  find,  mumbling  of 
old  times,  and  the  doings  at  Dr.  Winter's  wedding. 

David  devoted  himself  to  superintending  the  issue  of 
beer,  swelling  with  importance,  but  so  full  of  the  milk  of 
human  kindness  from  the  great  event  of  the  day  that  no- 
body minded  his  little  airs.  He  did  his  duty  so  satisfac- 
torily that,  with  the  exception  of  one  or  two  regular 
confirmed  soakers,  who  stuck  steadily  to  the  tap  of  the 
Red  Lion,  and  there  managed  successfully  to  fuddle  them- 
selves, there  was  nothing  like  drunkenness.  In  short,  it 
was  one  of  those  rare  days  when  every  thing  goes  right, 
and  everybody  seems  to  be  inclined  to  give  and  take,  and 
to  make  allowances  for  their  neighbors.  By  degrees  the 
cricket  flagged,  and  most  of  the  men  went  off  to  sit  over 
their  pipes,  and  finish  the  evening  in  their  own  way. 
The  boys  and  girls  took  to  playing  at  kissing  in  the  ring  ; 
and  the  children  who  had  not  already  gone  home  sat  in 
groups  watching  them. 

Miss  Winter  had  already  disappeared,  and  Tom,  Hardy, 
and  the  captain,  began  to  feel  that  they  might  consider 
their  part  finished.  They  strolled  together  off  the  green 
towards  Hardy's  lodgings,  the  Red  Lion  being  still  in  the 
possession  of  East's  guests. 

"  Well,  how  do  you  think  it  all  went  off?  "  asked  he. 

*  Nothing  could  have  been  better,"  said  Hardy ;  "  and 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  381 

they  all  seem  so  inclined  to  be  reasonable  that  I  don't 
think  we  shall  even  have  a  roaring  song  along  the  street 
to-night  when  the  Red  Lion  shuts  up." 

"  And  are  you  satisfied,  Tom  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  so.  I  have  been  hoping  for  this  day 
any  time  this  four  years,  and  now  it  has  come  and  gone 
off  well,  too,  thanks  to  you,  Harry." 

"Thanks  to  me?  Very  good;  I  am  open  to  any 
amount  of  gratitude." 

"  I  think  you  have  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 
your  second  day's  work  at  Englebourn,  at  any  rate." 

"  So  I  am.  I  only  hope  it  may  turn  out  as  well  as  the 
first." 

"  Oh,  there's  no  doubt  about  that." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  rather  believe  in  the  rule  of  con- 
traries." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Why,  when  you  inveigled  me  over  from  Oxford,  and 
we  carried  off  the  sergeant  from  the  authorities,  and  de- 
feated the  yeomanry  in  that  tremendous  thunder-storm,  I 
thought  we  were  a  couple  of  idiots,  and  deserved  a  week 
each  in  the  lock-up  for  our  pains.  That  business  turned 
out  well.  This  time  we  have  started  with  flying  colors, 
and  bells  ringing,  and  so  —  " 

"This  business  will  turn  out  better.     Why  not?" 

"  Then  let  us  manage  a  third  duy's  work  in  these  parts 
as  soon  as  possible.  I  should  like  to  get  to  the  third 
degree  of  comparison,  and  perhaps  the  superlative  .will 
turn  up  trumps  for  me  somehow.  Are  there  many  more 
young  women  in  the  place  as  pretty  as  Mrs.  Winburn  ? 
This  marrying  complaint  is  very  catching,  I  find." 

"  There's  my  Cousin  Katie,"  said  Tom,  looking  stealth- 
ily at  Hardy  ;  "  I  wont  allow  that  there's  any  face  in 
the  country-side  to  match  hers.     What  do  you  say,  Jack  ?  " 


382  TOM   BROWN    AT   OXFORD. 

Hardy  was  confused  by  this  sudden  appeal. 

"  I  haven't  been  long  enough  here  to  judge,"  he  said. 
"  I  have  always  thought  Miss  Winter  very  beautiful.  I 
see  it  is  nearly  seven  o'clock,  and  I  have  a  call  or  two  to 
make  in  the  village.  I  should  think  you  ought  to  get 
some  rest  after  this  tiring  day,  Captain  East." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do,  Tom  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  was  thinking  of  just  throwing  a  fly  over  the 
mill  tail.     There's  such  a  fine  head  of  water  on." 

"  Isn't  it  too  bright  ?  " 

"  Well,  perhaps  it  is  a  little  :  marrying  weather  and 
fishing  weather  don't  agree.  Only  what  else  is  there  to 
do  ?  But  if  you  are  tired,"  he  added,  looking  at  East, 
"  I  don't  care  a  straw  about  it.     I  shall  stay  with  you." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it.  I  shall  hobble  down  with  you,  and 
lie  on  the  bank  and  smoke  a  cheroot." 

"  No,  you  sha'n't  walk,  at  any  rate.  I  can  borrow  the 
constable's  pony,  old  Nibble,  the  quietest  beast  in  the 
world.  He'll  stand  for  a  week  if  we  like  while  I  fish  and 
you  lie  and  look  on.  I'll  be  off,  and  bring  him  round  in 
two  minutes." 

"  Then  we  shall  meet  for  a  clumsy  tea  at  nine  at  my 
lodgings,"  said  Hardy,  as  he  went  off  to  his  pastoral 
duties. 

Tom  and  East,  in  due  time,  found  themselves  by  the 
side  of  the  stream.  There  was  only  a  small  piece  of  fish- 
able  water  in  Englebourn.  The  fine  stream,  which,  a 
mile  or  so  below,  in  the  Grange  grounds,  might  be  called 
a  river,  came  into  respectable  existence  only  about  two 
hundred  yards  above  Englebourn  mill.  Here  two  little 
chalk  brooks  met,  and  former  millers  had  judiciously 
deepened  the  channel,  and  dammed  the  united  waters 
back  so  as  to  get  a  respectable  reservoir.  Above  the 
junction  the  little  weedy,  bright,  creeping  brooks,  afforded 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  383 

good  sport  for  small  truants  groppling  about  with  their 
hands,  or  bobbing  with  lobworms  under  the  hollow  banks, 
but  were  not  available  for  the  scientific  angler.  The 
parish  ended  at  the  fence  next  below  the  mill  garden,  on 
the  other  side  of  which  the  land  was  part  of  the  Grange 
estate.  So  there  was  just  the  piece  of  still  water  above 
the  mill,  and  the  one  field  below  it,  over  which  Tom  had 
leave.  On  ordinary  occasions  this  would  have  «been 
enough,  with  careful  fishing,  to  last  him  till  dark ;  but  his 
nerves  were  probably  somewhat  excited  by  the  events  of 
the  day,  and  East  sat  near  and  kept  talking ;  so  he  got 
over  his  water  faster  than  usual.  At  any  rate,  he  had 
arrived  for  the  second  time  at  the  envious  fence  before 
the  sun  was  down.  The  fish  were  wondrous  wary  in  the 
miller's  bit  of  water  —  as  might  be  expected,  for  they  led 
a  dog  of  a  life  there,  between  the  miller  and  his  men,  and 
their  nets,  and  baits  of  all  kinds  always  set.  So  Tom 
thought  himself  lucky  to  get  a  couple  of  decent  fish,  the 
only  ones  that  were  moving  within  his  liberty ;  but  he 
could  not  help  looking  with  covetous  eyes  on  the  fine 
stretch  of  water  below,  all  dimpling  with  rises. 

"  Why  don't  you  get  over  and  fish  below  ?  "  said  East, 
from  his  seat  on  the  bank  ;  "  don't  mind  me.  I  can 
watch  you  from  here ;  besides,  lying  on  the  turf  on  such 
an  evening  is  luxury  enough  by  itself." 

"  I  can't  go.  Both  sides  below  belong  to  that  fellow 
Wurley." 

"  The  sergeant's  amiable  landlord  and  prosecutor  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  the  yeoman  with  whom  you  exchanged 
shots  on  the  common." 

"  Hang  it,  Tom,  just  jump  over  and  catch  a  brace  of 
his  trout.     Look  how  they  are  rising." 

"  No.     I  don't  know.      I  never  was  very  particular 


384  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

about  poaching,  but  somehow  I  shouldn't  like  to  do  it  on 
his  land.     I  don't  like  him  well  enough." 

"  You're  right,  I  believe.  But,  just  look  there.  There's 
a  whopper  rising  not  more  than  ten  yards  below  the  rail. 
You  migbt  reach  him,  I  think,  without  trespassing,  from 
where  you  stand." 

"  Shall  I  have  a  shy  at  him?" 

"  Yes ;  it  can't  be  poaching  if  you  don't  go  on  his 
ground." 

Tom  could  not  resist  the  temptation,  and  threw  over 
the  rails,  which  crossed  the  stream  from  hedge  to  hedge 
to  mark  the  boundaries  of  the  parish,  until  he  got  well 
over  the  place  where  the  fish  was  rising. 

"  There,  that  was  at  your  fly,"  said  East,  hobbling  up 
in  great  excitement. 

"  All  right,  I  shall  have  him  directly.  There  he  is. 
Hullo  !  Harry,  I  say  !  Splash  with  your  stick.  Drive 
the  brute  back.     Bad  luck  to  him.     Look  at  that ! " 

The  fish  when  hooked  had  come  straight  up-stream 
towards  his  captor,  and,  notwithstanding  East's  attempts 
to  frighten  him  back,  had  rushed  in  under  the  before- 
mentioned  rails,  which  were  adorned  with  jagged  nails, 
to  make  crossing  on  them  unpleasant  for  the  Englebourn 
boys.  Against  one  of  these  Tom's  line  severed,  and  the 
waters  closed  over  two  beauteous  flies,  and  some  six  feet 
of  lovely  taper  gut. 

East  laughed  loud  and  merrily ;  and  Tom,  crestfallen 
as  he  was,  was  delighted  to  hear  the  old  ring  coming  back 
into  his  friend's  voice. 

"  Harry,  old  fellow,  you're  picking  up  already  in  this 
glorious  air." 

"  Of  course  I  am.  Two  or  three  more  weddings  and 
fishings  will  set  me  up  altogether.     How  could  you  be 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  385 

so  green  as  to  throw  over  those  rails  ?     It's  a  proper  les- 
son to  you,  Tom,  for  poaching." 

"  Well,  that's  cool.  Didn't  I  throw  down-stream  to 
please  you  ?  " 

"  You  ought  to  have  resisted  temptation.  But,  I  say, 
what  are  you  at  ?  " 

"  Putting  on  another  cast,  of  course." 

"  Why,  you're  not  going  on  to  Wurley's  land  ?  " 

"  No  ;  I  suppose  not.     I  must  try  the  mill  tail  again." 

"  It's  no  good.  You've  tried  it  over  twice,  and  I'm 
getting  hored." 

"  Well,  what  shall  we  do,  then  ?  " 

"  I've  a  mind  to  get  up  to  the  hill  there  to  see  the  sun 
set  —  what's  its  name  ?  —  where  I  waited  with  the  cavalry 
that  night,  you  know." 

"  Oh !  the  Hawk's  Lynch.  Come  along,  then ;  I'm 
your  man." 

So  Tom  put  up  his  rod,  and  caught  the  old  pony,  and 
the  two  friends  were  soon  on  their  way  towards  the  com- 
mon, through  lanes  at  the  back  of  the  village. 

The  wind  had  sunk  to  sleep  as  the  shadows  lengthened. 
There  was  no  sound  abroad  except  that  of  Nibble's  hoofs 
on  the  turf,  —  not  even  the  hum  of  insects;  for  the  few 
persevering  gnats,  who  were  still  dancing  about  in  the 
slanting  glints  of  sunshine  that  struck  here  and  there 
across  the  lanes,  had  left  off  humming.  Nothing  living 
met  them,  except  an  occasional  stag-beetle,  steering  clum- 
sily down  the  lane,  and  seeming,  like  a  heavy  coaster,  to 
have  as  much  as  he  could  fairly  manage  in  keeping  clear 
of  them.  They  walked  on  in  silence  for  some  time, 
which  was  broken  at  last  by  East. 

"  I  haven't  had  time  to  tell  you  about  my  future  pros- 
pects." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?     lias  any  thing  happened  ?" 
33 


386  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Yes.  I  got  a  letter  two  days  ago  from  New  Zealand, 
where  I  find  I  am  a  considerable  landowner.  A  cousin 
of  mine  has  died  out  there  and  left  me  his  property." 

"  Well,  you're  not  going  to  leave  England,  surely  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am.  The  doctors  say  the  voyage  will  do  me 
good,  and  the  climate  is  just  the  one  to  suit  me.  What's 
the  good  of  my  staying  here  ?  I  sha'n't  be  fit  for  service 
again  for  years.  I  shall  go  on  half-pay,  and  become  an 
enterprising  agriculturist  at  the  Antipodes.  I've  spoken 
to  the  sergeant,  and  arranged  that  he  and  his  wife  shall 
go  with  me ;  so,  as  soon  as  I  can  get  his  discharge,  and 
he  has  done  honeymooning,  we  shall  start.  I  wish  you 
would  come  with  us." 

Tom  could  scarcely  believe  his  ears ;  but  soon  found 
that  East  was  in  earnest,  and  had  an  answer  to  all  his  re- 
monstrances. Indeed,  he  had  very  little  to  say  against 
the  plan,  for  it  jumped  with  his  own  humor ;  and  he 
could  not  help  admitting  that,  under  the  circumstances,  it 
was  a  wise  one,  and  that,  with  Harry  Winburn  for  his 
head  man,  East  couldn't  do  better  than  carry  it  out. 

"  I  knew  you  would  soon  come  round  to  it,"  said  the 
captain  ;  "  what  could  I  do  dawdling  about  at  home,  with 
just  enough  money  to  keep  me  and  get  me  into  mischief? 
There  I  shall  have  a  position  and  an  object ;  and  one 
may  be  of  some  use,  and  make  one's  mark  in  a  new  coun- 
try. And  we'll  get  a  snug  berth  ready  for  you  by  the 
time  you're  starved  out  of  the  old  country.  England  isn't 
the  place  for  poor  men  with  any  go  in  them." 

"  I  believe  you're  right,  Harry,"  said  Tom,  mournfully. 

"I  know  I  am.  And  in  a  few  years,  when  we've 
made  our  fortunes,  we'll  come  back  and  have  a  look  at  the 
old  country,  and  perhaps  buy  up  half  Englebourn,  and 
lay  our  bones  in  the  old  churchyard." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  387 

"  And  if  we  don't  make  our  fortunes  ?  " 

"  Then  we'll  stay  out  there." 

"  Well,  if  I  were  my  own  master  I  think  I  should  make 
one  with  you.  But  I  could  never  leave  my  father  and 
mother,  or  —  or  —  " 

"  Oh,  I  understand.  Of  course,  if  matters  go  all  right 
iu  that  quarter,  I  have  nothing  more  to  say.  But,  from 
what  you  have  told  me,  I  thought  you  might  be  glad  of  a 
regular  break  in  your  life,  a  new  start  in  a  new  world." 

"  Very  likely  I  may.  I  should  have  said  so  myself 
this  morning.  But  somehow  I  feel  to-night  more  hopeful 
than  I  have  for  years." 

"  Those  wedding-chimes  are  running  in  your  head." 

"  Yes ;  and  they  have  lifted  a  load  off  my  heart  too. 
Four  years  ago  I  was  very  near  doing  the  greatest  wrong 
a  man  can  do  to  that  girl  who  was  married  to-day,  and  to 
that  fine  fellow  her  husband,  who  was  the  first  friend  I 
ever  had.  Ever  since  then  I  have  been  doing  my  best  to 
set  matters  straight,  and  have  often  made  them  crookeder. 
But  to-day  they  are  all  straight,  thank  God,  and  I  feel  as 
if  a  chain  were  broken  from  off  my  neck.  All  has  come 
right  for  them,  and  perhaps  my  own  turn  will  come  before 
long." 

"  To  be  sure  it  will.  I  must  be  introduced  to  a  certain 
young  lady  before  we  start.  I  shall  tell  her  that  I  don't 
mean  to  give  up  hopes  of  seeing  her  on  the  other  side  of 
the  world." 

"  Well,  here  we  are  on  the  common.  What  a  glorious 
sunset !  Come,  stir  up,  Nibble.  We  shall  be  on  the 
Lynch  just  in  time  to  see  him  dip  if  we  push  on." 

Kibble,  that  ancient  pony,  finding  that  there  was  no 
help  for  it,  scrambled  up  the  greater  part  of  the  ascent 
successfully.  But  his  wheezings  and  roarings  during  the 
operation  excited  East's  pity.     So  he  dismounted  when 


388 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 


they  came  to  the  foot  of  the  Hawk's  Lynch,  and,  tying 
Nibble's  bridle  to  a  furze  bush, —  a  most  unnecessary  pre- 
caution, —  set  to  work  to  scale  the  last  and  steepest  bit  of 
the  ascent  with  the  help  of  his  stick  and  Tom's  strong 
arm. 

They  paused  every  ten  paces  or  so  to  rest  and  look  at 
the  sunset.  The  broad  vale  below  lay  in  purple  shadow  ; 
the  soft  flocks  of  little  clouds  high  up  over  their  heads, 
and  stretching  away  to  the  eastern  horizon,  floated  in  a 
sea  of  rosy  light ;  and  the  stems  of  the  Scotch  firs  stood 
out  like  columns  of  ruddy  flame. 

"  Why,  this  beats  India,"  said  East,  putting  up  his 
hand  to  shade  his  eyes,  which  were  fairly  dazzled  by  the 
blaze.  "  What  a  contrast  to  the  last  time  I  was  up  here  ! 
Do  you  remember  that  awful  black-blue  sky  ?  " 

"  Don't  I  ?     Like  a  nightmare.     Hullo  !  who's  here  ?  " 

"  Why,  if  it  isn't  the  parson  and  Miss  Winter ! "  said 
East,  smiling. 

True  enough,  there  they  were,  standing  together  on  the 
very  verge  of  the  mound,  beyond  the  firs,  some  ten  yards 
in  front  of  the  last  comers,  looking  out  into  the  sunset. 

"  I  say,  Tom,  another  good  omen,"  whispered  East ; 
"  hadn't  we  better  beat  a  retreat  ?  " 

Before  Tom  could  answer,  or  make  up  his  mind  what 
to  do,  Hardy  turned  his  head  and  caught  sight  of  them, 
and  then  Katie  turned  too,  blushing  like  the  little  clouds 
overhead.  It  was  an  embarrassing  moment.  Tom  stam- 
mered out  that  they  had  come  up  quite  by  chance,  and 
then  set  to  work,  well  seconded  by  East,  to  look  des- 
perately unconscious,  and  to  expatiate  on  the  beauties  of 
the  view.  The  light  began  to  fade,  and  the  little  clouds 
to  change  again  from  soft  pink  to  gray,  and  the  evening 
star  shone  out  clear  as  they  turned  to  descend  the  hill, 
when  the  Englebourn  clock  chimed  nine. 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  389 

Katie  attached  herself  to  Tom,  while  Hardy  helped  the 
captain  down  the  steep  pitch,  and  on  to  the  back  of  Nib- 
ble. They  went  a  little  ahead.  Tom  was  longing  to 
speak  to  his  cousin,  but  could  not  tell  how  to  begin.  '  At 
last  Katie  broke  silence,  — 

"  I  am  so  vexed  that  this  should  have  happened  !  " 

"  Are  you,  dear  ?  So  am  not  I,"  he  said,  pressing  her 
arm  to  his  side. 

"But  I  mean,  it  seems  so  forward  —  as  if  I  had  met 
Mr.  Hardy  here  on  purpose.  What  will  your  friend 
think  of  me?" 

"  He  will  think  no  evil." 

"  But  indeed,  Tom,  do  tell  him,  pray.  It  was  quite  an 
accident.  You  know  how  I  and  Mary  used  to  go  up  the 
Hawk's  Lynch  whenever  we  could,  on  fine  evenings." 

"  Yes,  dear,  I  know  it  well." 

"And  I  thought  of  you  both  so  much  to-day,  that  I 
couldn't  help  coming  up  here." 

"  And  you  found  Hardy  ?  I  don't  wonder.  I  should 
come  up  to  see  the  sun  set  every  night,  if  I  lived  at 
Englebourn." 

"  No.  He  came  up  some  time  after  me.  Straight  up 
the  hill.  I  did  not  see  him  till  he  was  quite  close.  I 
could  not  run  away  then.  Indeed,  it  was  not  five  minutes 
before  you  came." 

"  Five  minutes  are  as  good  as  a  year  sometimes." 

"  And  you  will  tell  your  friend,  Tom,  how  it  happened  ?" 

"  Indeed  I  will,  Katie.  May  I  not  tell  him  something 
more  ?  " 

He  looked  round  for  an  answer,  and  there  was  just 
light  enough  to  read  it  in  her  eyes. 

"  My  debt  is  deepening  to  the  Hawk's  Lynch,"  he  said, 
as  they  walked  on  through  the  twilight-  "  Blessed  five 
minutes  !  Whatever  else  they  may  take  with  them,  they 
33* 


390  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

will  cany  my  thank9  forever.  Look  how  clear  and 
steady  the  light  of  that  star  is,  just  over  the  church  tower. 
I  wonder  whether  Mary  is  at  a  great  hot  dinner.  Shall 
you  write  to  her  soon  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes.     To-night." 

"  You  may  tell  her  that  there  is  no  better  Englishman 
walking  the  earth  than  my  friend,  John  Hardy.  Here 
we  are  at  his  lodgings.  East  and  I  are  going  to  tea  with 
him.     Wish  them  good-night,  and  I  will  see  you  home." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

A    MEETING     IN     THE     STREET. 

From  the  Englebourn  festivities  Tom  and  East  re- 
turned to  London.  The  captain  was  bent  on  starting  for 
his  possessions  in  the  South  Pacific  ;  and,  as  he  regained 
strength,  energized  over  all  his  preparations,  and  went 
about  in  cabs  purchasing  agricultural  implements,  some- 
times by  the  light  of  nature,  and  sometimes  under  the 
guidance  of  Harry  Winburn.  He  invested  also  in  some- 
thing of  a  library,  and  in  large  quantities  of  saddlery. 
In  short,  packages  of  all  kinds  began  to  increase  and 
multiply  upon  him.  Then  there  was  the  selecting  a  ves- 
sel, and  all  the  negotiations  with  the  ship's  husband  as  to 
terms,  and  the  business  of  getting  introduced  to,  and  con- 
ferring with,  people  from  the  colony,  or  who  were  sup- 
posed to  know  something  about  it.  Altogether,  East  had 
plenty  of  work  on  his  hands ;  and,  the  more  he  had  to 
do,  the  better  and  more  cheery  he  became. 

Tom,  on  the  contrary,  was  rather  lower  than  usual. 
His  half-formed  hopes,  that  some  good  luck  was  going  to 
happen  to  him  after  Patty's  marriage,  were  beginning  to 
grow  faint,  and  the  contrast  of  his  friend's  definite  present 
purpose  in  life  with  his  own  uncertainty,  made  him  more 
or  less  melancholy  in  spite  of  all  his  efforts.  His  father 
had  offered  him  a  tour  abroad,  now  that  he  had  finished 
with  Oxford,  urging  that  he  seemed  to  want  a  change  to 
freshen  him  up  before  buckling  to  a  profession,  and  that 


392  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

he  would  never,  in  all  likelihood,  have  such  another 
chance.  But  he  could  not  make  up  his  mind  to  accept 
the  offer.  The  attraction  to  London  was  too  strong  for 
him  ;  and,  though  he  saw  little  hope  of  any  thing  happen- 
ing to  improve  his  prospects,  he  could  not  keep  away 
from  it.  He  spent  most  of  his  time  when  not  with  East 
in  haunting  the  neighborhood  of  Mr.  Porter's  house  in 
Belgravia,  and  the  places  where  he  was  likely  to  catch 
distant  glimpses  of  Mary,  avoiding  all  chance  of  actual 
meeting  or  recognition,  from  which  he  shrank  in  his 
present  frame  of  mind. 

The  nearest  approach  to  the  flame  which  he  allowed 
himself  was  a  renewal  of  his  old  friendship  with  Grey, 
who  was  still  working  on  in  his  Westminster  rookery. 
He  had  become  a  great  favorite  with  Mrs.  Porter,  who 
was  always  trying  to  get  him  to  her  house  to  feed  him 
properly,  and  was  much  astonished,  and  sometimes  almost 
provoked,  at  the  small  success  of  her  hospitable  endeav- 
ors. Grey  was  so  taken  up  with  his  own  pursuits  that  it 
did  not  occur  to  him  to  be  surprised  that  he  never  met 
Tom  at  the  house  of  his  relations.  He  was  innocent  of 
all  knowledge  or  suspicion  of  the  real  state  of  things,  so 
that  Tom  could  talk  to  him  with  perfect  freedom  about  his 
uncle's  household,  picking  up  all  such  scraps  of  informa- 
tion as  Grey  possessed  without  compromising  himself  or 
feeling  shy. 

Thus  the  two  old  schoolfellows  lived  on  together  after 
their  return  from  Englebourn,  in  a  set  of  chambers  in  the 
Temple,  which  one  of  Tom's  college  friends,  who  had 
been  beguiled  from  the  perusal  of  Stephens'  Commen- 
taries, and  aspirations  after  the  woolsack,  by  the  offer  of 
a  place  on  board  a  yacht  and  a  cruise  to  Norway,  had  for- 
tunately lent  him. 

We  join  company  with  our  hero  again  on  a  fine  July 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  593 

morning.  Readers  will  begin  to  think  that,  at  any  rate, 
lie  is  always  blessed  with  fine  weather  whatever  troubles 
he  may  have  to  endure ;  but,  if  we  are  not  to  have  fine 
weather  in  novels,  when  and  where  are  we  to  have  it? 
It  was  a  fine  July  morning,  then,  and  the  streets  were 
already  beginning  to  feel  sultry  as  he  worked  his  way 
westward.  Grey,  who  had  never  given  up  hopes  of 
bringing  Tom  round  to  his  own  views,  had  not  neglected 
the  opportunities  which  this  residence  in  town  offered, 
and  had  enlisted  Tom's  services  on  more  than  one  occasion. 
He  had  found  him  specially  useful  in  instructing  the  big 
boys,  whom  he  was  trying  to  bring  together  and  civilize 
in  a  "  Young  Men's  Club,"  in  the  rudiments  of  cricket 
on  Saturday  evenings.  But  on  the  morning  in  question 
an  altogether  different  work  was  on  hand. 

A  lady,  living  some  eight  or  nine  miles  to  the  north- 
west of  London,  who  took  great  interest  in  Grey's  doings, 
had  asked  him  to  bring  the  children  of  his  night-school 
down  to  spend  a  day  in  her  grounds,  and  this  was  the 
happy  occasion.  It  was  before  the  days  of  cheap  ex- 
cursions by  rail,  so  that  vans  had  to  be  found  for  the 
party  ;  and  Grey  had  discovered  a  benevolent  remover  of 
furniture  in  Paddington,  who  was  ready  to  take  them  at 
a  reasonable  figure.  The  two  vans,  with  awnings  and 
curtains  in  the  height  of  the  fashion,  and  horses  with 
tasselled  ear-caps,  and  every  thing  handsome  about  them, 
were  already  drawn  up  in  the  midst  of  a  group  of  excited 
children,  and  scarcely  less  excited  mothers,  when  Tom 
arrived.  Grey  was  arranging  his  forces,  and  laboring  to 
reduce  the  Irish  children,  who  formed  almost  half  of  his 
ragged  little  flock,  into  something  like  order  before  start- 
ing. By  degrees  this  was  managed,  and  Tom  was  placed 
in  command  of  the  rear  van,  while  Grey  reserved  the 
leading  one  to  himself.     The  children  were  divided,  and 


394  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

warned  not  to  lean  over  the  sides  and  tumble  tut  —  a 
somewhat  superfluous  caution,  as  most  of  them,  though 
unused  to  riding  in  any  legitimate  manner,  were  pretty 
well  used  to  balancing  themselves  behind  any  vehicle 
which  offered  as  much  as  a  spike  to  sit  on,  out  of  sight  of 
the  driver.  Then  came  the  rush  into  the  vans.  Grey 
and  Tom  took  up  their  places  next  the  doors  as  conduct- 
ors, and  the  procession  lumbered  off  with  great  success, 
and  much  shouting  from  treble  voices. 

Tom  soon  found  that  he  had  plenty  of  work  on  his 
hands  to  keep  the  peace  amongst  his  flock.  The  Irish 
element  was  in  a  state  of  wild  effervescence,  and  he  had 
to  draft  them  down  to  his  own  end,  leaving  the  foremost 
part  of  the  van  to  the  soberer  English  children.  He  was 
much  struck  by  the  contrast  of  the  whole  set  to  the  En- 
glebourn  school  children,  whom  he  had  lately  seen  under 
somewhat  similar  circumstances.  The  difficulty  with 
them  had  been  to  draw  them  out,  and  put  any  thing  like 
life  into  them ;  here,  all  he  had  to  do  was  to  repress  the 
superabundant  life.  However,  the  vans  held  on  their 
way,  and  got  safely  into  the  suburbs,  and  so  at  last  to  an 
occasional  hedge,  and  a  suspicion  of  trees,  and  green  fields 
beyond. 

It  became  more  and  more  difficult  now  to  keep  the  boys 
in  ;  and,  when  they  came  to  a  hill,  where  the  horses  had 
to  walk,  he  yielded  to  their  entreaties,  and,  opening  the 
door,  let  them  out,  insisting  only  that  the  girls  should  re- 
main seated.  They  scattered  over  the  sides  of  the  roads, 
and  up  the  banks  ;  now  chasing  pigs  and  fowls  up  to  the 
very  doors  of  their  owners  ;  now  gathering  the  commonest 
road-side  weeds,  and  running  up  to  show  them  to  him, 
and  ask  their  names,  as  if  they  were  rare  treasures.  The 
ignorance  of  most  of  the  children  as  to  the  commonest 
country  matters   astonished   him.      One  small  boy  par- 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFOUD.  39o 

ticularly  came  back  time  after  time  to  ask  him,  with 
solemn  face,  "Please,  sir,  is  this  the  country?"  and, 
when,  at  last  he  allowed  that  it  was,  rejoined,  "  Then, 
please,  where  are  the  nuts  ?  " 

The  clothing  of  most  of  the  Irish  boys  began  to  tumble 
to  pieces  in  an  alarming  manner.  Grey  had  insisted  on 
their  being  made  tidy  for  the  occasion,  but  the  tidiness 
was  of  a  superficial  kind.  The  hasty  stitching  soon  began 
to  give  way,  and  they  were  rushing  about  with  wild  locks 
—  the  strips  of  what  once  might  have  been  nether  gar- 
ments hanging  about  their  legs;  their  feet  and  heads  bare, 
the  shoes  which  their  mothers  had  borrowed  for  the  state 
occasion  having  been  deposited  under  the  seat  of  the  van. 
So,  when  the  procession  arrived  at  the  trim  lodge-gates  of 
their  hostess,  and  his  charge  descended  and  fell  in  on  the 
beautifully  clipped  turf  at  the  side  of  the  drive,  Tom  felt 
some  of  the  sensations  of  Falstaff  when  he  had  to  lead 
his  ragged  regiment  through  Coventry  streets. 

He  was  soon  at  his  ease  again,  and  enjoyed  the  day 
thoroughly,  and  the  drive  home ;  but,  as  they  drew  near 
town  again,  a  sense  of  discomfort  and  shyness  came  over 
him,  and  he  wished  the  journey  to  Westminster  well  over, 
and  hoped  that  the  carmen  would  have  the  sense  to  go 
through  the  quiet  parts  of  the  town. 

He  was  much  disconcerted,  consequently,  when  the 
vans  came  to  a  sudden  stop,  opposite  one  of  the  park 
entrances,  in  the  Bayswater  road.  "  What  in  the  world 
is  Grey  about?"  he  thought,  as  he  saw  him  get  out,  and 
all  the  children  after  him.  So  he  got  out  himself,  and 
went  forward  to  get  an  explanation. 

"  Oh,  I  have  told  the  man  that  he  need  not  drive  us 
round  to  Westminster.  He  is  close  at  home  here  ;  and 
his  horses  have  had  a  hard  day ;  so  we  can  just  get  out 
and  walk  home." 


396  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  What,  across  the  park  ?  "  asked  Tom. 

"  Yes,  it  will  amuse  the  children,  you  know." 

"  But  they're  tired,"  persisted  Tom ;  "  come  now,  it's 
all  nonsense  letting  the  fellow  off;  he's  bound  to  take  us 
back." 

"  I'm  afraid  I  have  promised  him,"  said  Grey ;  "  be- 
sides, the  children  all  think  it  a  treat.  Don't  you  all 
want  to  walk  across  the  park  ? "  he  went  on,  turning  to 
them,  and  a  general  affirmative  chorus  was  the  answer. 
So  Tom  had  nothing  for  it  but  to  shrug  his  shoulders, 
empty  his  own  van,  and  follow  into  the  park  with  his  con- 
voy, not  in  the  best  humor  with  Grey  for  having  arranged 
this  ending  to  their  excursion. 

They  might  have  got  over  a  third  of  the  distance  be- 
tween the  Bayswater  road  and  the  Serpentine,  when  he 
was  aware  of  a  small  thin  voice  addressing  him. 

"  Oh,  please,  wont  you  carry  me  a  bit  ?  I'm  so  tired," 
said  the  voice.  He  turned  in  some  trepidation  to  look 
for  the  speaker,  and  found  her  to  be  a  sickly  undergrown 
little  girl  of  ten  or  thereabouts,  with  large  pleading  gray 
eyes,  very  shabbily  dressed,  and  a  little  lame.  He  had 
remarked  her  several  times  in  the  course  of  the  day,  not 
for  any  beauty  or  grace  about  her,  for  the  poor  child  had 
none,  but  for  her  transparent  confidence  and  trustfulness. 
After  dinner,  as  they  had  been  all  sitting  on  the  grass  un- 
der the  shade  of  a  great  elm  to  hear  Grey  read  a  story, 
and  Tom  had  been  sitting  a  little  apart  from  the  rest  with 
his  back  against  the  trunk,  she  had  come  up  and  sat 
quietly  down  by  him,  leaning  on  his  knee.  Then  he  had 
seen  her  go  up  and  take  the  hand  of  the  lady  who  had 
entertained  them,  and  walk  along  by  her,  talking  without 
the  least  shyness.  Soon  afterwards  she  had  squeezed  into 
the  swing  by  the  side  of  the  beautifully  dressed  little 
daughter  of  the  same  lady,  who,  after  looking  for  a  minute 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  397 

at  her  shabby  little  sister  with  large  round  eyes,  had 
jumped  out  and  run  off  to  her  mother,  evidently  in  a  state 
of  childish  bewilderment  as  to  whether  it  was  not  wicked 
for  a  child  to  wear  such  dirty  old  clothes. 

Tom  had  chuckled  to  himself  as  he  saw  Cinderella  set- 
tling herself  comfortably  in  the  swing  in  the  place  of  the 
ousted  princess,  and  had  taken  a  fancy  to  the  child,  spec- 
ulating to  himself  as  to  how  she  could  have  been  brought 
up,  to  be  so  utterly  unconscious  of  differences  of  rank 
and  dress.  "  She  seems  really  to  treat  her  fellow-creatures 
as  if  she  had  been  studying  the  Sartor  Resartus,"  he 
thought.  "  She  has  cut  down  through  all  clothes  philos- 
ophy without  knowing  it.  I  wonder,  if  she  had  a  chance, 
whether  she  would  go  and  sit  down  in  the  queen's  lap  ?  " 

He  did  not  at  the  time  anticipate  that  she  would  put  his 
own  clothes  philosophy  to  so  severe  a  test  before  the  day 
was  over.  The  child  had  been  as  merry  and  active  as 
any  of  the  rest  during  the  earlier  part  of  the  day  ;  but 
now,  as  he  looked  down,  in  answer  to  her  reiterated  plea, 
"  Wont  you  carry  me  a  bit  ?  I'm  so  tired  !  "  he  saw  that 
she  could  scarcely  drag  one  foot  after  the  other. 

What  was  to  be  done  ?  He  was  already  keenly  alive 
to  the  discomfort  of  walking  across  Hyde  Park  in  a  pro- 
cession of  ragged  children,  with  such  a  figure  of  fun  as 
Grey  at  their  head,  looking,  in  his  long,  rusty,  straight- 
cut  black  coat,  as  if  he  had  come  fresh  out  of  Noah's  ark. 
He  didn't  care  about  it  so  much  while  they  were  on  the 
turf  in  the  out-of-the-way  parts,  and  would  meet  nobody 
but  guards,  and  nurse-maids,  and  trades-people,  and  me- 
chanics out  for  an  evening  stroll.  But  the  Drive  and 
Rotten  Row  lay  before  them,  and  must  be  crossed.  It 
was  just  the  most  crowded  time  of  the  day.  lie  had 
almost  made  up  his  mind  once  or  twice  to  stop  Grey  and 
the  procession,  and  propose  to  sit  down  for  half  an  hour 
34 


398  TOM   BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

or  so,  and  let  the  children  play,  by  which  time  the  world 
would  be  going  home  to  dinner.  But  there  was  no  play 
left  in  the  children ;  and  he  had  resisted  the  temptation, 
meaning,  when  they  came  to  the  most  crowded  part,  to 
look  unconscious,  as  if  it  were  by  chance  that  he  had  got 
into  such  company,  and  had  in  fact  nothing  to  do  with 
them.  But  now,  if  he  listened  to  the  child's  plea,  and 
carried  her,  all  hope  of  concealment  was  over.  If  he  did 
not,  he  felt  that  there  would  be  no  greater  flunkey  in  the 
park  that  evening  than  Thomas  Brown,  the  enlightened 
radical  and  philosopher,  amongst  the  young-gentlemen 
riders  in  Rotten  Row,  or  the  powdered  footmen  lounging 
behind  the  great  blaring  carriages  in  the  Drive. 

So  he  looked  down  at  the  child  once  or  twice  in  a  state 
of  puzzle.  A  third  time  she  looked  up  with  her  great 
eyes,  and  said,  "  Oh,  please  carry  me  a  bit ! "  and  her 
piteous,  tired  face  turned  the  scale.  "  If  she  were  Lady 
Mary  or  Lady  Blanche,"  thought  he,  "  I  should  pick  her 
up  at  once,  and  be  proud  of  the  burden.  Here  goes !  " 
And  he  took  her  up  in  his  arms,  and  walked  on,  des- 
perate and  reckless. 

Notwithstanding  all  his  philosophy,  he  felt  his  ears 
tingling  and  his  face  getting  red,  as  they  approached  the 
Drive.  It  was  crowded.  They  were  kept  standing  a 
minute  or  two  at  the  crossing.  He  made  a  desperate 
effort  to  abstract  himself  wholly  from  the  visible  world, 
and  retire  into  a  state  of  serene  contemplation.  But  it 
would  not  do ;  and  he  was  painfully  conscious  of  the  stare 
of  lack-lustre  eyes  of  well-dressed  men  leaning  over  the 
rails,  and  the  amused  look  of  delicate  ladies,  lounging  in 
open  carriages,  and  surveying  him  and  Grey  and  their 
ragged  rout  through  glasses. 

At  last  they  scrambled  across,  and  he  breathed  freely 
for  a  minute,  as  they  struggled  along  the  comparatively 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  399 

quiet  path  leading  to  Albert  Gate,  and  stopped  to  drink 
at  the  fountain.  Then  came  Rotten  Row,  and  another 
pause  amongst  the  loungers,  and  a  plunge  into  the  ride, 
where  he  was  nearly  run  down  by  two  men  whom  he  had 
known  at  Oxford.  They  shouted  to  him  to  get  out  of  the 
way ;  and  he  felt  the  hot,  defiant  blood  rushing  through 
his  veins,  as  he  strode  across  without  heeding.  They 
passed  on,  one  of  them  having  to  pull  his  horse  out  of  his 
stride  to  avoid  him.  Did  they  recognize  him  ?  He  felt 
a  strange  mixture  of  utter  indifference,  and  longing  to 
strangle  them. 

The  worst  was  now  over ;  besides,  he  was  getting  used 
to  the  situation,  and  his  good  sense  was  beginning  to  rally. 
So  he  marched  through  Albert  Gate,  carrying  his  ragged 
little  charge,  who  prattled  away  to  him  without  a  pause, 
and  surrounded  by  the  rest  of  the  children,  scarcely  caring 
who  might  see  him,  and  who  might  not.  They  won  safely 
through  the  omnibuses  and  carriages  on  the  Kensington 
road,  and  so  into  Belgravia.  At  last  he  was  quite  at  his 
ease  again,  and  began  listening  to  what  the  child  was  say- 
ing to  him,  and  was  strolling  carelessly  along,  when  once 
more,  at  one  of  the  crossings,  he  was  startled  by  a  shout 
from  some  riders.  There  was  straw  laid  down  in  the 
street,  so  that  he  had  not  heard  them  as  they  cantered 
round  the  corner,  hurrying  home  to  dress  for  dinner ;  and 
they  were  all  but  upon  him,  and  had  to  rein  up  their 
horses  sharply. 

The  party  consisted  of  a  lady  and  two  gentlemen,  — 
one  old,  the  other  young ;  the  latter  dressed  in  the  height 
of  fashion,  and  with  the  supercilious  air  which  Tom  hated 
from  his  soul.  The  shout  came  from  the  young  man,  and 
drew  Tom's  attention  to  him  first.  All  the  devil  rushed 
up  as  he  recognized  St.  Cloud.  The  lady's  horse  swerved 
against  his,  and  began  to  rear.     He  put  his  hand  on  its 


400  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

bridle,  as  if  he  had  a  right  to  protect  her.  Another  glance 
told  Tom  that  the  lady  was  Mary,  and  the  old  gentleman, 
fussing  up  on  his  stout  cob  on  the  other  side  of  her,  Mr. 
Porter. 

They  all  knew  him  in  another  moment.  He  stared 
from  one  to  the  other,  was  conscious  that  she  turned  her 
horse's  head  sharply,  so  as  to  disengage  the  bridle  from 
St.  Cloud's  hand,  and  of  his  insolent  stare,  and  of  the  em- 
barrassment of  Mr.  Porter;  and  then,  setting  his  face 
straight  before  him,  he  passed  on  in  a  bewildered  dream, 
never  looking  back  till  they  were  out  of  sight.  The 
dream  gave  way  to  bitter  and  wild  thoughts,  upon. which 
it  will  do  none  of  us  any  good  to  dwell.  He  put  down 
the  little  girl  outside  the  schools,  turning  abruptly  from 
the  mother,  a  poor  widow  in  scant  well-preserved  black 
clothes,  who  was  waiting  for  the  child,  and  began  thank- 
ing him  for  his  care  of  her ;  refused  Grey's  pressing  in- 
vitation to  tea,  and  set  his  face  eastward.  Bitterer  and 
more  wild  and  more  scornful  grew  his  thoughts  as  he 
strode  along  past  the  abbey,  and  up  Whitehall,  and  away 
down  the  Strand,  holding  on  over  the  crossings  without 
paying  the  slightest  heed  to  vehicle,  or  horse,  or  man. 
Incensed  coachmen  had  to  pull  up  with  a  jerk  to  avoid 
running  over  him,  and  more  than  one  sturdy  walker  turned 
round  in  indignation  at  a  collision  which  they  felt  had 
been  intended,  or  at  least  there  had  been  no  effort  to 
avoid.  As  he  passed  under  the  window  of  the  Banquet- 
ing Hall,  and  by  the  place  in  Charing-cross  where  the 
pillory  used  to  stand,  he  growled  to  himself  what  a  pity  it 
was  that  the  times  for  cutting  off  heads  and  cropping  ears 
had  gone  by.  The  whole  of  the  dense  population  from 
either  side  of  the  Strand  seemed  to  have  crowded  out  into 
that  thoroughfare  to  impede  his  march  and  aggravate  him. 
The  further  eastward  he  got  the  thicker  got  the  crowd ; 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  401 

and  the  vans,  the  omnibuses,  the  cabs,  seemed  to  multiply 
and  get  noisier.  Not  an  altogether  pleasant  sight  to  a 
man  in  the  most  Christian  frame  of  mind  is  the  crowd 
that  a  fine  summer  evening  fetches  out  into  the  roaring 
Strand,  as  the  sun  fetches  out  flies  on  the  window  of  a 
village  grocery.  To  him  just  then  it  was  at  once  depress- 
ing and  provoking,  and  he  went  shouldering  his  way  tow- 
ards Temple  Bar  as  thoroughly  out  of  tune  as  he  had 
been  for  many  a  long  day. 

As  he  passed  from  the  narrowest  part  of  the  Strand 
into  the  space  round  St.  Clement  Dane's  church,  he  was 
startled,  in  a  momentary  lull  of  the  uproar,  by  the  sound 
of  chiming  bells.  He  slackened  his  pace  to  listen  ;  but  a 
huge  van  lumbered  by,  shaking  the  houses  on  both  sides, 
and  drowning  all  sounds  but  its  own  rattle  ;  and  then  he 
found  himself  suddenly  immersed  in  a  crowd,  vociferating 
and  gesticulating  round  a  policeman,  who  was  conveying 
a  woman  towards  the  station-house.  He  shouldered 
through  it,  —  another  lull  came,  and  with  it  the  same 
slow,  gentle,  calm  cadence  of  chiming  bells.  Again  and 
again  he  caught  it  as  he  passed  on  to  Temple  Bar ;  when- 
ever the  roar  subsided  the  notes  of  the  old  hymn  tune 
came  drooping  down  on  him  like  balm  from  the  air. 
If  the  ancient  benefactor  who  caused  the  bells  of  St. 
Clement  Dane's  church  to  be  arranged  to  play  that  chime 
so  many  times  a  day  is  allowed  to  hover  round  the  steeple 
at  such  times,  to  watch  the  effect  of  his  benefaction  on 
posterity,  he  must  have  been  well  satisfied  on  that  even- 
ing. Tom  passed  under  the  Bar,  and  turned  into  the 
Temple  another  man,  softened  again,  and  in  his  right 
mind. 

"  There's  always  a  voice  saying  the  right  thing  to  you 
somewhere,  if  you'll  only  listen  for  it,"  he  thought.     Ho 
34* 


402  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

took  a  few  turns  in  the  court  to  clear  bis  head,  and  then 
went  up,  and  found  Harry  East  reclining  on  a  sofa,  in 
full  view  of  the  gardens  and  river,  solacing  himself  with 
his  accustomed  cheroot. 

"  Oh,  here  you  are,"  he  said,  making  room  on  the  sofa ; 
—  "how  did  it  go  off?" 

"  "Well  enough.     Where  have  you  been  ?  " 

"  In  the  city  and  at  the  docks.  I've  been  all  over  our 
vessel.     She's  a  real  clipper." 

"  When  do  you  sail  ?  " 

"  Not  quite  certain.  I  should  say  in  a  fortnight,  though." 
East  puffed  away  for  a  minute,  and  then,  as  Tom  said 
nothing,  went  on.  "  I'm  not  so  sweet  on  it  as  the  time 
draws  near.  There  are  more  of  my  chums  turning  up 
every  day  from  India  at  the  Rag.  And  this  is  uncom- 
monly pleasant,  too,  living  with  you  here  in  chambers. 
You  may  think  it  odd,  but  I  don't  half  like  getting  rid  of 
you." 

"  Thanks  :  but  I  don't  think  you  will  get  rid  of  me." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  shall  go  with  you,  if  my  people  will  let 
me,  and  you  will  take  me." 

"  W-h-ew  !     Any  thing  happened  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  You've  seen  her  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Well,  go  on.  Don't  keep  a  fellow  in  suspense.  I 
shall  be  introduced,  and  eat  one  of  the  old  boy's  good 
dinners,  after  all,  before  I  sail." 

Tom  looked  out  of  window,  and  found  some  difficulty 
in  getting  out  the  words,  "  No,  it's  all  up." 

"  You  don't  mean  it  ?  "  said  East,  coming  to  a  sitting 
position  by  Tom's  side.  "  But  how  do  you  know  ?  Are 
you  sure  ?     What  did  she  say  ?  " 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  403 

"  Nothing.  I  haven't  spoken  to  her ;  but  it's  all  up. 
She  was  riding  with  her  father  and  the  fellow  to  whom 
she's  engaged.  I  have  heard  it  a  dozen  times,  but  never 
would  believe  it." 

"  But,  is  that  all  ?  Riding  with  her  father  and  another 
man  !     Why,  there's  nothing  in  that." 

"  Yes,  but  there  is  though.  You  should  have  seen  his 
look.  And  they  all  knew  me  well  enough,  but  not  one  of 
them  nodded  even." 

"  Well,  there's  not  much  in  that  after  all.  It  may  have 
been  chance,  or  you  may  have  fancied  it." 

"  No,  one  isn't  quite  such  a  fool.  However,  I  have  no 
right  to  complain,  and  I  wont.  I  could  bear  it  all  well 
enough  if  he  were  not  such  a  cold-hearted  blackguard." 

"  What,  this  fellow  she  was  riding  with  ?  " 

"  Yes.  He  hasn't  a  heart  the  size  of  a  pin's  head. 
He'll  break  hers.  He's  a  mean  brute  too.  She  can't 
know  him,  though  he  has  been  after  her  this  year  and 
more.  They  must  have  forced  her  into  it.  Ah  !  it's  a 
bitter  business,"  and  he  put  his  head  between  his  hands, 
and  East  heard  the  deep  catches  of  his  laboring  breath,  as 
he  sat  by  him,  feeling  deeply  for  him,  but  puzzled  what  to 
say. 

"  She  can't  be  worth  so  much  after  all,  Tom,"  he  said 
at  last,  "  if  she  would  have  such  a  fellow  as  that.  Depend 
upon  it,  she's  not  what  you  thought  her." 

Tom  made  no  answer ;  so  the  captain  went  on  presently, 
thinking  he  had  hit  the  right  note. 

"  Cheer  up,  old  boy.  There's  as  good  fish  in  the  sea 
yet  as  ever  came  out  of  it.  Don't  you  remember  the 
song  —  whose  is  it  ?     Lovelace's  :  — 

" '  If  she  be  not  fair  for  me, 

What  care  I  for  whom  she  be  ? ' " 


404  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Tom  started  up  almost  fiercely,  but  recovered  himself 
in  a  moment,  and  then  leant  his  head  down  again. 

"  Don't  talk  about  her,  Harry ;  you  don't  know  her,"  he 
said. 

"  And  don't  want  to  know  her,  Tom,  if  she  is  going  to 
throw  you  over.  "Well,  I  shall  leave  you  for  an  hour  or 
so.  Come  up  to  me  presently  at  the  Rag,  when  you  feel 
better." 

East  started  for  his  club,  debating  within  himself  what 
he  could  do  for  his  friend  —  whether  calling  out  the  party 
mightn't  do  good. 

Tom,  left  to  himself,  broke  down  at  first  sadly  ;  but,  as 
the  evening  wore  on  he  began  to  rally,  and  sat  down  and 
wrote  a  long  letter  to  his  father,  making  a  clean  breast, 
and  asking  his  permission  to  go  with  East 


CHAPTER    XXVI. 

THE    END. 

"  My  Dear  Katie,  —  I  know  you  will  be  very  much 
pained  when  you  read  this  letter.  You  two  have  been 
my  only  confidantes,  and  you  have  always  kept  me  up, 
and  encouraged  me  to  hope  that  all  would  come  right. 
And  after  all  that  happened  last  week,  Patty's  marriage, 
and  your  engagement, —  the  two  things  upon  earth,  with 
one  exception,  that  I  most  wished  for,  —  I  quite  felt  that 
my  own  turn  was  coming.  I  can't  tell  why  I  had  such  a 
strong  feeling  about  it,  but  somehow  all  the  most  impor- 
tant changes  in  my  life  for  the  last  four  years  have  been 
so  interwoven  with  Patty  and  Harry  Winburn's  history 
that,  now  they  were  married,  I  was  sure  something  would 
happen  to  me  as  soon  as  I  came  to  London.  And,  indeed, 
it  has.  Dear  Katie,  I  can  hardly  bring  myself  to  write 
it.  It  is  all  over.  I  met  her  in  the  street  to-day ;  she 
was  riding  with  her  father  and  the  man  I  told  you  about. 
They  had  to  pull  up  not  to  ride  over  me ;  so  I  had  a  good 
look  at  her,  and  there  can  be  no  mistake  about  it.  I  have 
often  tried  to  reason  myself  into  the  belief  that  the  evil 
day  must  come  sooner  or  later,  and  to  prepare  myself  for 
it,  but  I  might  have  spared  myself,  for  it  could  not  have 
been  worse  than  it  is  if  I  had  never  anticipated  it.  My 
future  is  all  a  blank  now.  I  can't  stay  in  England,  so  I 
have  written  home  to  ask  them  to  let  me  go  to  New 
Zealand  with  East,  and  I  am  sure  they  will  consent,  when 
they  know  all. 


406  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

"  I  shall  wait  in  town  till  I  get  the  answer.  Perhaps  1 
may  be  able  to  get  off  with  East  in  a  few  weeks.  The 
sooner  the  better  ;  but,  of  course,  I  shall  not  go  without 
seeing  you  and  dear  old  Jack.  -You  mustn't  mind  me 
calling  him  Jack.  The  only  thing  that  gives  me  any 
pleasure  to  think  about  is  your  engagement.  It  is  so 
right,  and  one  wants  to  see  something  going  right,  some 
one  getting  their  due,  to  keep  alive  one's  belief  in  justice 
being  done  somehow  or  another  in  the  world  ;  and  I  do 
see  it,  and  acknowledge  it  when  I  think  over  his  history 
and  mine  since  we  first  met.  We  have  both  got  our  due  ; 
and  you  have  got  yours,  Katie,  for  you  have  got  the  best 
fellow  in  England. 

"  Ah,  if  I  only  could  think  that  she  has  got  hers !  If  I 
could  only  believe  that  the  man  she  has  chosen  is  worthy 
of  her !  I  will  try  hard  to  think  better  of  him.  There 
must  be  more  good  in  him  than  I  have  ever  seen,  or  she 
would  never  have  engaged  herself  to  him.  But  I  can't  bear 
to  stop  here,  and  see  it  all  going  on.  The  sooner  I  am  out 
of  England  the  better.  I  send  you  a  parcel  with  this ;  it 
contains  her  notes,  and  some  old  flowers,  and  other  mat- 
ters which  I  haven't  the  heart  to  burn.  You  will  be  the 
best  judge  what  should  be  done  with  them.  If  you  see 
your  way  to  managing  it,  I  should  like  her  to  know  that  I 
had  sent  them  all  to  you,  and  that  whatever  may  happen 
to  me  hereafter,  my  love  for  her  has  been  the  mainstay 
and  the  guiding-star  of  my  life  ever  since  that  happy  time 
when  you  all  came  to  stay  with  us  in  my  first  long  vaca- 
tion. It  found  me  eaten  up  with  selfishness  and  conceit, 
the  puppet  of  my  own  lusts  and  vanities,  and  has  left  me 
—  Well,  never  mind  what  it  has  left  me.  At  any  rate,  if 
I  have  not  gone  from  worse  to  worse,  it  is  all  owing  to 
her  ;  and  she  ought  to  know  it.  It  cannot  be  wrong  to 
let  her  know  what  good  she  has  scattered  unknowingly 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  407 

about  her  path.  May  God  bless  and  reward  her  for  it, 
and  you,  too,  dear  cousin,  for  all  your  long  love  and  kind- 
ness to  one  who  is  very  unworthy  of,  but  very  thankful 
for,  them.  —  Ever  yours,  affectionately,  T.  B." 

The  above  letter,  and  that  to  his  father,  asking  for  leave 
to  emigrate,  having  been  written  and  sent  off,  Tom  was 
left  on  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  his  upset,  mak- 
ing manful,  if  not  very  successful,  efforts  to  shake  off  the 
load  of  depression  which  weighed  on  him,  and  to  turn  his 
thoughts  resolutely  forward  to  a  new  life  in  a  new  country. 
East  was  away  at  the  docks.  There  was  no  one  moving 
in  the  Temple.  The  men  who  had  business  were  all  at 
Westminster,  or  out  of  sight  and  hearing  in  the  recesses 
of  their  chambers.  Those  who  had  none  were  for  the 
most  part  away  enjoying  themselves,  in  one  way  or 
another,  amongst  the  mighty  whirl  of  the  mighty  human 
sea  of  London.  There  was  nothing  left  for  him  to  do,  he 
had  written  the  only  two  letters  he  had  to  write,  and  had 
only  to  sit  still  and  wait  for  the  answers,  killing  the  mean 
time  as  well  as  he  could.  Reading  came  hard  to  him, 
but  it  was  the  best  thing  to  do  perhaps ;  at  any  rate,  he 
was  trying  it  on,  though  his  studies  were  constantly  inter- 
rupted by  long  fits  of  absence  of  mind,  during  which, 
though  his  body  remained  in  the  Temple,  he  was  again  in 
the  well-kept  garden  of  Barton,  or  in  the  hazel  wood 
under  the  lea  of  the  Berkshire  hills. 

He  was  roused  out  of  one  of  these  reveries,  and  brought 
back  to  external  life  and  Fig-tree  Court,  by  a  single 
knock  at  the  outer  door,  and  a  shout  of  the  newsman's 
boy  for  the  paper.  So  he  got  up,  found  the  paper,  which 
he  had  forgotten  to  read,  and  as  he  went  to  the  door  cast 
his  eye  on  it,  and  saw  that  a  great  match  was  going  on  at 
Lord's.    This  gave  a  new  turn  to  his  thoughts.     He  stood 


408 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 


looking  down-stairs  after  the  boy,  and  considering  whether 
he  should  not  start  at  once  for  the  match. 

He  would  be  sure  to  see  a  lot  of  acquaintance  there  at 
any  rate.  But  the  idea  of  seeing  and  having  to  talk  to 
mere  acquaintance  was  more  distasteful  than  his  present 
solitude.  He  was  turning  to  bury  himself  again  in  his 
hole,  when  he  saw  a  white  dog  walk  quietly  up  seven  or 
eight  stairs  at  the  bottom  of  the  flight,  and  then  turn 
round,  and  look  for  some  one  to  follow. 

"  How  odd ! "  thought  Tom,  as  he  watched  him  ;  "  as 
like  as  two  peas.  It  can't  be.  No.  "Why,  yes  it  is." 
And  then  he  whistled,  and  called  "Jack,"  and  the  dog 
looked  up,  and  wagged  his  tail,  as  much  as  to  say,  "  All 
right,  I'm  coming  directly ;  but  I  must  wait  for  my 
master."  The  next  moment  Drysdale  appeared  at  the 
bottom  of  the  stairs,  and  looking  up,  said,  — 

"  Oh  !  that's  you,  is  it  ?  I'm  all  right  then.  So  you 
knew  the  old  dog  ?  " 

"  I  should  rather  think  so,"  said  Tom.  "  I  hope  I  never 
forget  a  dog  or  a  horse  I  have  once  known." 

In  the  short  minute  which  Drysdale  and  Jack  took  to 
arrive  at  his  landing,  Tom  had  time  for  a  rush  of  old  col- 
lege memories,  in  which  grave  and  gay,  pleasant  and  bit- 
ter, were  strangely  mingled.  The  night  when  he  had 
been  first  brought  to  his  senses  about  Patty  came  up  very 
vividly  before  him,  and  the  commemoration  days,  when 
he  had  last  seen  Drysdale.  "  How  strange  !  "  he  thought ; 
"  is  my  old  life  coming  back  again  just  now  ?  Here,  on 
the  very  day  after  it  is  all  over,  comes  back  the  man  with 
whom  I  was  so  intimate  up  to  the  day  it  began,  and  have 
never  seen  since.     What  does  it  mean  ?  " 

There  was  a  little  touch  of  embarrassment  in  the  man- 
ner of  both  of  them  as  they  shook  hands  at  the  top  of  the 
stairs,  and  turned  into  the  chambers.     Tom  motioned  to 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  409 

Jack  to  take  his  old  place  at  one  end  of  the  sofa,  and  be- 
gan caressing  him  there,  the  clog  showing  unmistakably, 
by  gesture  and  whine,  that  delight  at  renewing  an  old 
friendship,  for  which  his  race  are  so  nobly  distinguished. 
Drysdale  threw  himself  down  in  an  arm-chair,  and 
watched  them. 

"  So  you  knew  the  old  dog,  Brown  ?  "  he  repeated. 

"  Knew  him  ?  —  of  course  I  did.  Dear  old  Jack  I 
How  well  he  wears ;    he  is  scarcely  altered  at  all." 

"  Very  little ;  only  steadier.  More  than  I  can  say  for 
his  master.     I'm  very  glad  you  knew  Jack." 

"  Come,  Drysdale,  take  the  other  end  of  the  sofa,  or  it 
wont  look  like  old  times.  There,  now  I  can  fancy  myself 
back  at  St.  Ambrose's." 

"  By  Jove,  Brown,  you're  the  right  sort.  I  always  said 
so,  even  after  that  last  letter.  You  pitched  it  rather  too 
strong  in  that  though.  I  was  very  near  coming  back 
from  Norway  to  quarrel  with  you." 

"  Well,  I  was  very  angry  at  being  left  in  the  lurch  by 
you  and  Blake." 

"  You  got  the  coin  all  right,  I  suppose  ?  You  never 
acknowledged  it." 

"  Didn't  I  ?  Then  T  ought  to  have.  Yes,  I  got  it  all 
right  about  six  months  afterwards.  I  ought  to  have 
acknowledged  it,  and  I  thought  I  had.  I'm  sorry  I  didn't. 
Now  we're  all  quits,  and  wont  talk  any  more  about  that 
rascally  bill." 

"  I  suppose  I  may  light  up,"  said  Drysdale,  dropping 
into  his  old  lounging  attitude  on  the  sofa,  and  pulling  out 
his  cigar-case. 

"  Yes,  of  course.     "Will  you  have  any  thing?  " 

"  A  cool  drink  wouldn't  be  amiss." 

"  They  make  a  nice  tankard  with  cider  and  a  lump  of 
ice  at  the  Rainbow.     What  do  you  say  to  that?" 
35 


410  TOM    BROWN    A.T    OXFORD. 

"  It  sounds  touching,"  said  Drysdale.  So  Tom  posted 
off  to  Fleet  Street  to  order  the  liquor,  and  came  back  fol- 
lowed by  a  waiter  with  the  tankard.  Drysdale  took  a 
long  pull,  and  smacked  his  lips. 

"  That's  a  wrinkle,"  he  said,  handing  the  tankard  to 
Tom.  "  I  suppose  the  lawyers  teach  all  the  publicans 
about  here  a  trick  or  two.  Why,  one  can  fancy  one's  self 
back  in  the  old  quad  looking  out  on  this  court.  If  it 
weren't  such  an  outlandish  out-of-the-way  place  I  think  I 
should  take  some  chambers  here  myself.  How  did  you 
get  here  ?  " 

"  Oh,  they  belong  to  a  friend  of  mine  who  is  away. 
But  how  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"  Why  along  the  Strand  in  a  Hansom." 

"  I  mean,  how  did  you  know  I  was  here  ?  " 

"  Grey  told  me." 

"  What !  Grey  who  was  at  St.  Ambrose's  with  us  ?  " 

"  Yes.     You  look  puzzled." 

"  I  didn't  think  you  knew  Grey." 

"  No  more  I  do.  But  a  stout  old  party  I  met  last 
night  —  your  godfather,  I  should  think  he  is  —  told  me 
where  he  was,  and  said  I  should  get  your  address  from 
him.  So  I  looked  him  up  this  morning,  in  that  dog-hole 
in  Westminster  where  he  lives.  He  didn't  know  Jack 
from  Adam." 

"  But  what  in  the  world  do  you  mean  by  my  god- 
father?" 

"  I  had  better  tell  my  story  from  the  beginning  I  see. 
Last  night  I  did  what  I  don't  often  do,  went  out  to  a  great 
drum.  There  was  an  awful  crush  of  course,  and  you  may 
guess  what  the  heat  was  in  these  dog-days,  with  gas-lights 
and  wax-lights  going,  and  a  jam  of  people  in  every  cor- 
ner. I  was  fool  enough  to  get  into  the  rooms,  so  that  my 
retreat  was  cut  off,  and  I  had  to  work  right  through,  and 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  411 

got  at  last  into  a  back  room,  which  was  not  so  full.  The 
window  was  in  a  recess,  and  there  was  a  balcony  out- 
side, looking  over  a  little  bit  of  garden.  1  got  into  the 
balcony,  talking  with  a  girl  who  was  sensible  enough  to 
like  the  cool.  Presently  I  heard  a  voice  I  thought  I  knew 
inside.  Then  I  heard  St.  Ambrose,  and  then  your  name. 
Of  course  I  listened,  I  couldn't  help  myself.  They  were 
just  inside  the  window,  in  the  recess,  not  live  feet  from  us, 
so  I  hea^d  Dretty  nearly  every  word.  Give  us  the  tank- 
ard, I'm  as  dry  as  an  ash-heap  with  talking." 

Tom  scarcely  able  to  control  his  impatience,  handed  the 
tankard.  "  But  who  was  it  ?  —  you  haven't  told  me,"  he 
said,  as  Drysdale  put  it  down  at  last  empty. 

"  Why,  that  d d  St.  Cloud.     He  was  giving  you  a 

nice  character,  in  a  sort  of  sneaking  deprecatory  way,  as 
if  he  was  sorry  for  it.  Amongst  other  little  tales,  he  said 
you  used  to  borrow  money  from  Jews  —  he  knew  it  for  a 
certainty  because  he  had  been  asked  himself  to  join  you 
and  another  man,  meaning  me,  of  course,  in  such  a  trans- 
action. You  remember  how  he  wouldn't  acknowledge  the 
money  I  lent  him  at  play,  and  the  note  he  wrote  me  which 
upset  Blake  so.  I  had  never  forgotten  it.  I  knew  I 
should  get  my  chance  some  day,  and  here  it  was.  I  don't 
know  what  the  girl  thought  of  me,  or  how  she  got  out  of 
the  balcony,  but  I  stepped  into  the  recess  just  as  he  had 
finished  his  precious  story,  and  landed  between  him  and  a 
comfortable  old  boy,  who  was  looking  shocked.  He  must 
be  your  godfather,  or  something  of  the  kind.  I'll  bet  you 
a  pony  you  are  down  for  something  handsome  in  his 
will." 

"  What  was  his  name  ?     Did  you  find  out  ?  " 

"  Yes  ;  Potter,  or  Porter,  or  something  like  it.  I've  got 
his  card  somewhere.     I  just  stared  St.  Cloud  in  the  face, 


412  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

and  you  may  depend  upon  it  he  winced.  Then  I  told  the 
old  boy  that  I  had  heard  their  talk ;  and  as  I  was  at  St. 
Ambrose  with  you,  I  should  like  to  have  five  minutes  with 
him  when  St.  Cloud  had  done.  He  seemed  rather  in  a 
corner  between  us.  However,  I  kept  in  sight  till  St. 
Cloud  was  obliged  to  draw  off,  and,  to  cut  my  story  short 
as  the  tankard  is  empty,  I  think  I  put  you  pretty  straight 
there.  You  said  we  were  quits  just  now  :  after  last  night, 
perhaps  we  are,  for  I  told  him  the  truth  of  the  Benjamin 
story,  and  I  think  he  is  squared.  He  seems  a  good  sort 
of  old  boy.     He's  a  relation  of  yours,  eh  ?  " 

"  Only  a  distant  connection.  Did  any  thing  more 
happen  ? " 

"  Yes  ;  I  saw  that  he  was  flurried,  and  didn't  know 
quite  what  to  think  ;  so  I  asked  him  to  let  me  call,  and  I 
would  bring  him  some  one  else  to  speak  to  your  charac- 
ter. He  gave  me  his  card,  and  I'm  going  to  take  Blake 
there  to-day.  Then  I  asked  him  where  you  were,  and 
he  didn't  know,  but  said  he  thought  Grey  could  tell  me." 

"  It  is  very  kind  of  you,  Drysdale,  to  take  so  much 
trouble." 

"  Trouble !  I'd  go  from  here  to  Jericho  to  be  even 
with  our  fine  friend.  I  never  forget  a  bad  turn.  I  met 
him  afterwards  in  the  cloak-room,  and  went  out  of  the 
door  close  after  him,  to  give  him  a  chance  if  he  wants  to 
say  any  thing.  I  only  wish  he  would.  But  why  do  you 
suppose  he  is  lying  about  you  ?  " 

"  I  can't  tell.  I've  never  spoken  to  him  since  he  left 
Oxford.  Never  saw  him  till  yesterday,  riding  with  Mr. 
Porter.     I  suppose  that  reminded  them  of  me." 

"  Well,  St.  Cloud  is  bent  on  getting  round  him  for 
some  reason  or  another,  you  may  take  your  oath  of  that. 
Now  my  time's  up  ;  I  shall  go  and  pick  up  Blake.     J 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  413 

should  think  I  had  better  not  take  Jack  to  call  in  Eton 
Square,  though  he'd  give  you  a  good  character  if  he 
could  speak  ;  wouldn't  you,  Jack  ? " 

Jack  wagged  his  tail  and  descended  from  the  sofa. 

"  Does  Blake  live  up  here  ?     What  is  he  doing?" 

"  Burning  the  candle  at  both  ends,  and  in  the  middle, 
as  usual.  Yes,  he's  living  near  his  club.  He  writes 
political  articles,  devilish  well  I  hear,  too,  and  is  reading 
for  the  bar  ;  besides  which  he  is  getting  into  society,  and 
going  out  whenever  he  can,  and  fretting  his  soul  out  that 
he  isn't  prime  minister,  or  something  of  the  kind.  He 
wont  last  long  at  the  pace  he's  going." 

"  I'm  very  sorry  to  hear  it.  But  you'll  come  here 
again,  Drysdale  ;  or  let  me  come  and  see  you.  I  shall 
be  very  anxious  to  hear  what  has  happened." 

"  Here's  my  pasteboard ;  I  shall  be  in  town  for  another 
fortnight.     Drop  in  when  you  like." 

And  so  Drysdale  and  Jack  went  off,  leaving  Tom  in  a 
chaotic  state  of  mind.  All  his  old  hopes  were  roused 
again  as  he  thought  over  Drysdale's  narrative.  He  could 
no  longer  sit  still,  so  he  rushed  out,  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  river  side-walk,  in  the  Temple  gardens,  where  a 
fine  breeze  was  blowing,  at  a  pace  which  astonished  the 
gate-keepers  and  the  nursery-maids,  and  children,  who 
were  taking  the  air  in  that  favorite  spot.  Once  or  twice 
he  returned  to  chambers,  and  at  last  found  East  reposing 
after  his  excursion  to  the  docks. 

East's  quick  eye  saw  at  once  that  something  had  hap- 
pened, and  had  very  soon  heard  the  whole  story,  upon 
which  he  deliberated  for  some>  minutes,  and  rejoiced 
Tom's  heart  by  saying:  "Ah  !  all  up  with  New  Zealand, 
I  see.  I  shall  be  introduced  after  all,  before  we  start. 
Come  along,  I  must  stand  you  a  dinner  on  the  strength  of 
the  good  news,  and  we'll  drink  her  health." 
35* 


414  TOM    BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

Tom  called  twice  that  evening  at  Drysdale's  lodgings, 
but  he  was  out.  The  next  morning  he  called  again.  Drys- 
dale  had  gone  to  Hampton  Court  races,  and  had  left  no 
message.  He  left  a  note  for  him,  but  got  no  answer.  It 
was  trying  work.  Another  day  passed  without  any  word 
from  Drysdale,  who  seemed  never  to  be  at  home,  and  no 
answer  to  either  of  his  letters.  On  the  third  morning  he 
heard  from  his  father.  It  was  just  the  answer  which  he 
had  expected,  —  as  kind  a  letter  as  could  be  written.  Mr. 
Brown  had  suspected  how  matters  stood  at  one  time,  but 
had  given  up  the  idea  in  consequence  of  Tom's  silence, 
which  he  regretted,  as  possibly  things  might  have  hap- 
pened otherwise  had  he  known  the  state  of  the  case.  It 
was  too  late  now,  however ;  and  the  less  said  the  better 
about  what  might  have  been.  As  to  New  Zealand,  he 
should  not  oppose  Tom's  going,  if,  after  some  time,  he  con- 
tinued in  his  present  mind.  It  was  very  natural  for  him 
just  now  to  wish  to  go.  They  would  talk  it  over  as  soon 
as  Tom  came  home,  which  Mr.  Brown  begged  him  to  do 
at  once,  or,  at  any  rate,  as  soon  as  he  had  seen  his  friend 
off.     Home  was  the  best  place  for  him. 

Tom  sighed  as  he  folded  it  up  ;  the  hopes  of  the  last 
three  days  seemed  to  be  fading  away.  He  spent  another 
restless  day,  and  by  night  had  persuaded  himself  that 
Drysdale's  mission  had  been  a  complete  failure,  and  that 
he  did  not  write  out  of  kindness  to  him. 

"  Why,  Tom,  old  fellow,  you  look  as  down  in  the  mouth 
as  ever  to-night,"  East  said,  when  Tom  opened  the  door 
for  him  about  midnight,  on  his  return  from  his  club ; 
"  cheer  up,  you  may  depend  it's  all  to  go  right." 

"  But  I  haven't  seen  Drysdale  again,  and  he  hasn't  writ- 
ten." 

"  There's  nothing  in  that.  He  was  glad  enough  to  do 
you  a  good  turn,  I  dare  say,  when  it  came  in  his  way,  but 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  415 

that  sort  of  fellow  never  can  keep  any  tiling  up.  He  has 
been  too  much  used  to  having  his  own  way,  and  followin" 
his  own  fancies.  Don't  you  lose  heart  because  he  wont 
put  himself  out  for  you." 

"  "Well,  Harry,  you  are  the  best  fellow  in  the  world. 
You  would  put  backbone  into  any  one." 

"  Now,  we'll  just  have  a  quiet  cheroot,  and  then  turn  in 
and  see  if  you  don't  have  good  news  to-morrow.  How 
hot  it  is;  the  Strand  to-night  is  as  hot  as  the  Punjaub,  and 
the  reek  of  it  —  Phah  !  my  throat  is  full  of  it  still." 

East  took  off  his  coat,  and  was  just  throwing  it  on  a 
chair,  when  he  stopped,  and,  feeling  in  the  pocket,  said,  — 
"  Let's  see,  here's  a  note  for  you.     The  porter  gave  it 
me  as  I  knocked  in." 

Tom  took  it  carelessly,  but  the  next  moment  was  tear- 
ing it  open  with  trembling  fingers.  "  From  my  cousin," 
he  said.  East  watched  him  read,  and  saw  the  blood  rush 
to  his  face,  and  the  light  come  into  his  eyes. 

"  Good  news,  Tom,  I  see.  Bravo,  old  boy.  You've 
had  a  long  fight  for  it,  and  deserve  to  win." 

Tom  got  up,  tossed  the  note  across  the  table,  and  began 
walking  up  and  down  the  room ;  his  heart  was  too  full  for 
speech. 

"  May  I  read  ?  "  said  East,  looking  up. 
Tom  nodded,  and  he  read,  — 

"  Dear  Tom,  —  I  am  come  to  town  to  spend  a  week 
with  them  in  Eton  Square.  Call  on  me  to-morrow  at 
twelve,  or,  if  you  are  engaged  then,  from  three  to  five. 
I  have  no  time  to  add  more  now,  but  long  to  see  you. 
Your  loving  cousin,  Katie. 

"P. S.  —  I  will  give  you  your  parcel  back  to-morrow^ 
and  then  you   can  burn  the  contents  yourself  or  do  what 


416  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

you  like  with  them.  Uncle  bids  me  say  he  shall  be  glad 
if  you  will  come  and  dine  to-morrow,  and  any  other  day 
you  can  spare  while  I  am  here." 

When  he  had  read  the  note  East  got  up  and  shook 
hands  heartily  with  Tom,  and  then  sat  down  again  quietly 
to  finish  his  cheroot,  watching  with  a  humorous  look  his 
friend's  march. 

"  And  you  think  it  is  really  all  right  now  ? "  Tom 
asked,  in  one  form  or  another,  after  every  few  turns  ;  and 
East  replied  in  various  forms  of  chaffing  assurance  that 
there  could  not  be  much  further  question  on  the  point. 
At  last,  when  he  had  finished  his  cheroot,  he  got  up,  and 
taking  his  candle  said,  "  Good-night,  Tom  ;  when  that  revo- 
lution comes,  which  you're  always  predicting,  remember  if 
you're  not  shot  or  hung,  you'll  always  find  a  roost  for  you 
and  your  wife  in  New  Zealand." 

"  I  don't  feel  so  sure  about  the  revolution  now,  Harry." 

"  Of  course  you  don't.  Mind,  I  bargain  for  the  dinner 
in  Eton  Square.  I  always  told  you  I  should  dine  there 
before  I  started." 

****** 

The  next  day  Tom  found  that  he  was  not  engaged  at 
twelve  o'clock,  and  was  able  to  appear  in  Eton  Square. 
He  was  shown  up  into  the  drawing-room,  and  found  Katie 
alone  there.  The  quiet  and  coolness  of  the  darkened 
room  was  most  grateful  to  him  after  the  glare  of  the 
streets,  as  he  sat  down  by  her  side. 

"  But,  Katie,"  he  said,  as  soon  as  the  first  salutations 
and  congratulations  had  passed,  "  how  did  it  all  happen  ? 
I  can't  believe  my  senses  yet.  I  am  afraid  I  may  wake 
up  any  minute." 

"  "Well,  it  was  chiefly  owing  to  two  lucky  coincidences  ; 
though  no  doubt  it  would  have  all  come  right  in  time 
without  them." 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  417 

"  Our  meeting  the  other  day  in  the  street,  I  suppose, 
for  one  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Coming  across  you  so  suddenly,  carrying  the 
little  girl,  reminded  Mary  of  the  day  when  she  sprained 
her  ankle,  and  you  carried  her  through  Hazel  Copse. 
Ah,  you  never  told  me  all  of  that  adventure,  either  of 
you." 

"  All  that  was  necessary,  Katie." 

"  Oh  !  I  have  pardoned  you.  Uncle  saw  then  that  she 
was  very  much  moved  at  something,  and  guessed  well 
enough  what  it  was.  He  is  so  very  kind,  and  so  fond  of 
Mary,  he  would  do  any  thing  in  the  world  that  she  wished. 
She  was  quite  unwell  that  evening;  so  he  and  aunt  had 
to  go  out  alone,  and  they  met  that  Mr.  St.  Cloud  at  a 
party,  who  was  said  to  be  engaged  to  her." 

"  It  wasn't  true,  then  ?  " 

"  No,  never.  lie  is  a  very  designing  man,  though  I  be- 
lieve he  was  really  in  love  with  poor  Mary.  At  any  rate 
he  has  persecuted  her  for  more  than  a  year.  And,  it  is 
very  wicked,  but  I  am  afraid  he  spread  all  those  reports 
himself." 

"  Of  their  engagement  ?     Just  like  him  !  " 

"  Uncle  is  so  good-natured,  you  know,  and  he  took  ad- 
vantage of  it,  and  was  always  coming  here,  and  riding 
with  them.  And  he  had  made  uncle  believe  dreadful 
stories  about  you,  which  made  him  seem  so  unkind.  lie 
was  quite  afraid  to  have  you  at  the  house." 

"  Yes,  I  saw  that  last  year;  and  the  second  coincidence  ?  " 

"  It  happened  that  very  night.  Poor  uncle  was  very 
much  troubled  what  to  do  ;  so  when  he  met  Mr.  St.  Cloud, 
as  I  told  you,  he  took  him  aside  to  ask  him  again  about 
you.  Somehow,  a  gentleman  who  was  a  friend  of  yours 
at  Oxford  overheard  what  was  said,  and  came  forward  and 
explained  every  thing." 


418  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Yes,  he  came  and  told  me." 

"  Then  you  know  more  than  I  about  it." 

"  And  you  think  Mr.  Porter  is  convinced  that  I  am  not 
quite  such  a  scamp  after  all  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed ;  and  the  boys  are  so  delighted  that  they 
will  see  you  again.  They  are  at  home  for  the  holidays, 
and  so  grown." 

"And  Mary?" 

"  She  is  very  well.  You  will  see  her  before  long,  I 
dare  say." 

"  Is  she  at  home  ?  " 

u  She  is  out  riding  with  uncle.  Now  I  will  go  up  and 
get  your  parcel,  which  I  had  opened  at  home  before  I  got 
aunt's  note  asking  me  here.  No  wonder  we  could  never 
find  her  boot." 

Katie  disappeared,  and  at  the  same  time  Tom  thought 
he  heard  the  sound  of  horse's  feet.  Yes,  and  they  have 
stopped,  too ;  it  must  be  Mary  and  her  father.  He  could 
not  see,  because  of  the  blinds  and  other  devices  for  keep- 
ing the  room  cool.  But  the  next  moment  there  were 
voices  in  the  hall  below,  and  then  a  light  step  on  the 
carpeted  stair  which  no  ear  but  his  could  have  heard. 
His  heart  beat  with  heavy,  painful  pulsations,  and  his 
head  swam  as  the  door  opened,  and  Mary  in  her  riding- 
ha-jit  stood  in  the  room. 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 


THE   POSTSCRIPT. 


Our  curtain  must  rise  once  again,  and  it  shall  be  on  a 
familiar  spot.  Once  more  we  must  place  ourselves  on  the 
Hawk's  Lynch,  and  look  out  over  the  well-known  view, 
and  the  happy  autumn  fields,  ripe  with  the  golden  harvest. 
Two  people  are  approaching  on  horseback  from  the 
Barton  side,  who  have  been  made  one  since  we  left  them 
at  the  fall  of  the  curtain  in  the  last  chapter.  They  ride 
lovingly  together,  close  to  one  another,  and  forgetful  of 
the  whole  world,  as  they  should  do,  for  they  have  scarcely 
come  to  the  end  of  their  honeymoon. 

They  are  in  country  costume,  she  in  a  light  plain  habit, 
but  well  cut,  and  setting  on  her  as  well  as  she  sits  on  her 
dainty  gray  ;  he  in  shooting-coat  and  wide-awake,  with  his 
fishing-basket  slung  over  his  shoulder.  They  come  steadily 
up  the  hill-side,  rousing  a  yellow  hammer  here  and  there 
from  the  furze  bushes,  and  only  draw  bit  when  they  have 
reached  the  very  top  of  the  knoll.  Then  they  dismount, 
and  Tom  produces  two  halters  from  his  fishing-basket,  and, 
taking  off  the  bridles,  fastens  the  horses  up  in  the  shade 
of  the  fir-trees,  and  loosens  their  girths,  while  Mary,  after 
searching  in  the  basket,  pulls  out  a  bag,  and  pours  out  a 
prodigal  feed  of  corn  before  each  of  them,  on  the  short 
grass. 

"  What  are  you  doing,  you  wasteful  little  woman  ?  You 
should  have  put  the  bag  underneath.  They  wont  be  able 
to  pick  up  half  the  corn." 


420  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

"  Never  mind,  dear,  then  the  birds  will  get  it." 

"And  you  have  given  them  enough  for  three  feeds." 

"  Why  did  you  put  so  much  in  the  bag  ?     Besides,  you 

know  it  is  the  last  feed  I  shall  give  her.     Poor  dear  little 

Gipsy,"  she  added,  patting  the  neck  of  her  dapple  gray  ; 

"  you  have  found  a  kind  mistress  for  her,  dear,  haven't 

you?" 

"  Yes  ;  she  will  be  lightly  worked,  and  well  cared  for," 
he  said,  shortly,  turning  away,  and  busying  himself  with 
the  basket  again. 

"  But  no  one  will  ever  love  you,  Gipsy,  like  your  old 
mistress.  Now  give  me  a  kiss,  and  you  shall  have  your 
treat,"  and  she  pulled  a  piece  of  sugar  out  of  the  pocket 
of  her  riding-habit,  at  the  sight  of  which  the  gray  held 
out  her  beautiful  nose  to  be  fondled,  and  then  lapped  up 
the  sugar  with  eager  lips  from  Mary's  hand,  and  turned  to 
her  corn. 

The  young  wife  tripped  across  and  sat  down  near  her 
husband,  who  was  laying  out  their  luncheon  on  the  turf. 

"  It  was  very  dear  of  you  to  think  of  coming  here  for 
our  last  ride,"  she  said.  "  I  remember  how  charmed  I 
was  with  the  place  the  first  Sunday  I  ever  spent  at 
Englebourn,  when  Katie  brought  me  up  here  directly 
after  breakfast,  before  we  went  to  the  school.  Such  a 
time  ago  it  seems  —  before  I  ever  saw  you.  And  I  have 
never  been  here  since.  But  I  love  it  most  for  your  sake, 
dear.  Now  tell  me  again  all  the  times  you  have  been 
here." 

Tom  proceeded  to  recount  some  of  his  visits  to  the 
Hawk's  Lynch,  in  which  we  have  accompanied  him. 
And  then  they  talked  on  about  Katie,  and  East,  and  the 
Englebourn  people,  past  and  present,  old  Betty,  and  Harry 
and  his  wife  in  New  Zealand,  and  David  patching  coats 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  421 

and  tending  bees,  and  executing  the  queen's  justice  to  the 
best  of  his  ability  in  the  village  at  their  feet. 

"  Poor  David,  I  must  get  over  somehow  to  see  him 
before  we  leave  home.  lie  feels  your  uncle's  death,  and 
the  other  changes  in  the  parish,  more  than  any  one." 

"I  am  so  sorry  the  living  was  sold,"  said  Mary;  "Katie 
and  her  husband  would  have  made  Englebourn  into  a 
little  paradise." 

"  It  could  not  be  helped,  dear.  I  can't  say  I'm  sorry. 
There  would  not  have  been  work  enough  for  him.  lie  is 
better  where  he  is,  in  a  great  town  parish." 

"  But  Katie  did  love  the  place  so,  and  was  so  used 
to  it,  she  had  become  quite  a  little  queen  there  before  her 
marriage.  See  what  we  women  have  to  give  up  for  you," 
she  said,  playfully,  turning  to  him.  But  a  shadow  passed 
over  his  face,  and  he  looked  away  without  answering. 

"  What  makes  you  look  sorrowful,  dear  ?  What  are 
you  thinking  of  ?  " 

"Oh!  nothing!" 

"  That  isn't  true.  Now  tell  me  what  it  is.  You  have 
no  right,  you  know,  to  keep  any  thing  from  me." 

"  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  you  having  had  to  sell 
Gipsy.  You  have  never  been  without  a  riding-horse 
till  now.  You  will  miss  your  riding  dreadfully,  I  am 
6iire,  dear." 

"  I  shall  do  very  well  without  riding.  I  am  so  proud 
of  learning  my  lesson  from  you.  You  will  see  what  a  poor 
man's  wife  I  shall  make.  I  have  been  getting  mamma 
to  let  me  do  the  housekeeping,  and  know  how  a  joint 
should  look,  and  all  sorts  of  useful  things,  and  I  have 
made  my  own  house-linen.  I  shall  soon  get  to  hate  all 
luxuries  as  much  as  you  do." 

"  Now,  Mary,  you  mustn't  run  into  extremes.  I  never 
36 


422  TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD. 

said  you  ought  to  hate  all  luxuries,  but  that  almost  every- 
body one  knows  is  a  slave  to  them." 

"  Well,  and  I  hate  any  thing  that  wants  to  make  a  slave 
of  me." 

"  You  are  a  dear  little  free  woman.  But  now  we  are 
on  this  subject  again,  Mary,  I  really  want  to  speak  to  you 
about  keeping  a  lady's  maid.  We  can  quite  afford  it,  and 
you  ought  to  have  one." 

"I  shall  do  nothing  of  the  sort." 

"  Not  to  oblige  me,  Mary  ?  " 

"  No,  not  even  to  oblige  you.  There  is  something  to 
be  said  for  dear  Gipsy.  But,  take  a  maid  again !  to  do 
nothing  but  torment  me  and  pretend  to  take  care  of  my 
clothes,  and  my  hair  !  I  never  knew  what  freedom  was 
till  I  got  rid  of  poor,  foolish,  grumbling  Iliggins." 

"  But  you  may  get  a  nice  girl  who  will  be  a  comfort  to 
you." 

"  No,  I  never  will  have  a  woman  again  to  do  nothing 
but  look  after  me.  It  isn't  fair  to  them.  Besides,  dear, 
you  can't  say  that  I  don't  look  better  since  I  have  done 
my  own  hair.  Did  you  ever  see  it  look  brighter  than  it 
does  now  ?  " 

"  Never,  and  now  here  is  luncheon  all  ready."  So  they 
sat  down  on  the  verge  of  the  slope,  and  eat  their  cold 
chicken  and  tongue  with  the  relish  imparted  by  youth,  a 
long  ride,  and  the  bracing  air. 

Mary  was  merrier  and  brighter  than  ever,  but  it  was 
an  effort  with  him  to  respond ;  and  soon  she  began  to 
notice  this,  and  then  there  was  a  pause,  which  she  broke 
at  last  with  something  of  an  effort. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  serious,  now  ?  I  must 
know." 

"  Was  I  looking  serious  ?  I  beg  your  pardon,  dearest, 
and  I  wont  do  so  again  any  more  ; "  and  he  smiled  as  he 


TOM    BROWN    AT    OXFORD.  423 

answered,  but  the  smile  faded  away  before  her  steady, 
loving  gaze,  and  he  turned  slightly  from  her,  and  looked 
out  over  the  vale  below. 

She  watched  him  for  a  short  time  in  silence,  her  own 
fair  young  face  changing  like  a  summer  sea,  as  the  light 
clouds  pass  over  it.  Presently  she  seemed  to  have  come 
to  some  decision ;  for,  taking  off  her  riding-hat,  she  threw 
it  and  her  whip  and  gauntlets  on  the  turf  beside  her,  and 
drawing  nearer  to  his  side,  laid  her  hand  on  his.  He 
looked  at  her  fondly,  and  stroking  her  hair,  said,  — 

"  Take  care  of  your  complexion,  Mary." 

"  Oh,  it  will  take  care  of  itself  in  this  air,  dear.  Be- 
sides, you  are  between  me  and  the  sun  ;  and  now  you 
must  tell  me  why  you  look  so  serious.  It  is  not  the  first 
time  I  have  noticed  that  look.  I  am  your  wife,  you  know, 
and  I  have  a  right  to  know  your  thoughts,  and  to  share 
all  your  joy,  and  all  your  sorrow.  I  do  not  mean  to 
give  up  any  of  my  rights  which  I  got  by  marrying  you." 

"  Your  rights,  dearest !  —  your  poor  little  rights,  which 
you  have  gained  by  changing  name,  and  plighting  troth. 
It  is  thinking  of  that, —  thinking  of  what  you  have  bought, 
and  the  price  you  have  paid  for  it,  which  makes  me  sad  at 
times  ;  even  when  you  are  sitting  by  me,  and  laying  your 
hand  on  my  hand,  and  the  sweet  burden  of  your  pure 
life  and  being  on  my  soiled  and  baffled  manhood." 

"  But  it  was  my  own  bargain,  you  know,  dear,  and  I 
am  satisfied  with  my  purchase.  I  paid  the  price  with  my 
eyes  open." 

"  Ah,  if  I  could  only  feel  that !  " 

"  But  you  know  that  it  is  true." 

"  No,  dearest,  that  is  the  pinch.  I  do  not  know  that  it 
is  true.  I  often  feel  that  it  is  just  not  a  bit  true.  It  was 
a  one-sided  bargain,  in  which  one  of  the  parties  had  their 
eyes  open  and  got  all  the  advantage,  and  that  party  was  I." 


424  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  I  will  not  have  you  so  conceited,"  she  said,  patting 
his  hand  once  or  twice,  and  looking  more  bravely  than 
ever  up  into  his  eyes.  "  Why  should  you  think  you 
were  so  much  the  cleverer  of  the  two,  as  to  get  all  the 
good  out  of  our  bargain  ?  I  am  not  going  to  allow  that 
you  were  so  much  the  most  quick-witted  and  clear-sighted. 
Women  are  said  to  be  as  quick-witted  as  men.  Perhaps 
it  is  not  I  who  have  been  outwitted  after  all." 

"  Look  at  the  cost,  Mary.  Think  of  what  you  will 
have  to  give  up.     You  cannot  reckon  it  up  yet." 

"  What !  you  are  going  back  to  the  riding-horses  and 
lady's  maid  again.  I  thought  I  had  convinced  you  on 
those  points." 

"  They  are  only  a  very  little  part  of  the  price.  You 
have  left  a  home  where  everybody  loved  you.  You 
knew  it;  you  were  sure  of  it.  You  had  felt  their  love 
ever  since  you  could  remember  any  thing." 

"  Yes,  dear,  and  I  feel  it  still.  They  will  be  all  just 
as  fond  of  me  at  home,  though  I  am  your  wife." 

"  At  home  !     It  is  no  longer  your  home." 

"  No,  I  have  a  home  of  my  own  now.  A  new  home, 
with  new  love  there  to  live  on ;  and  an  old  home,  with  the 
old  love  to  think  of." 

"  A  new  home  instead  of  an  old  one  ;  a  poor  home  in- 
stead of  a  rich  one  —  a  home  where  the  cry  of  the  sorrow 
and  suffering  of  the  world  will  reach  you,  for  one  in  which 
you  had  —  " 

"  In  which  I  had  not  you,  dear.  There  now,  that  was 
my  purchase.  I  set  my  mind  on  having  you  —  buying 
you,  as  that  is  your  word.  I  have  paid  my  price,  and  got 
my  bargain,  and  —  you  know,  I  was  always  an  oddity, 
and  rather  wilful  —  am  content  with  it." 

"  Yes,  Mary,  you  have  bought  me,,  and  you  little  know, 
dearest,  what  you  have  bought.     I  can  scarcely  bear  my 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  425 

own  selfishness  at  times  when  I  think  of  what  your  life 
might  have  been  had  I  left  you  alone,  and  what  it  must  be 
with  me." 

"  And  what  might  it  have  been,  dear  ?  " 

"  Why  you  might  have  married  some  man  with  plenty 
of  money,  who  could  have  given  you  every  thing  to  which 
you  have  been  used." 

"  I  shall  begin  to  think  that  you  believe  in  luxuries, 
after  all,  if  you  go  on  making  so  much  of  them.  You 
must  not  go  on  preaching  one  thing  and  practising  another. 
I  am  a  convert  to  your  preaching,  and  believe  in  the 
misery  of  multiplying  artificial  wants.  Your  wife  must 
have  none." 

"  Yes,  but  wealth  and  position  are  not  to  be  despised. 
I  feel  that,  now  that  it  is  all  done  past  recall,  and  I  have 
to  think  of  you.  But  the  loss  of  them  is  a  mere  nothing 
to  what  you  will  have  to  go  through." 

"  What  do  you  mean,  dear  ?  Of  course  we  must  expect 
some  troubles,  like  other  people." 

"  Why,  I  mean,  Mary,  that  you  might,  at  least,  have 
married  a  contented  man  ;  some  one  who  found  the  world 
a  very  good  world,  and  was  satisfied  with  things  as  they 
are,  and  had  light  enough  to  steer  himself  by ;  and  not  a 
fellow  like  me,  full  of  all  manner  of  doubts  and  perplex- 
ities, who  sees  little  but  wrong  in  the  world  about  him, 
and  more  in  himself." 

"  You  think  I  should  have  been  more  comfortable  ?  " 

"  Yes,  more  comfortable  and  happier.  What  right  had 
I  to  bring  my  worries  on  you  ?  For  I  know  you  can't 
live  with  me,  dearest,  and  not  be  bothered  and  annoyed 
when  I  am  anxious  and  dissatisfied."  # 

"  But  what  if  I  did  not  marry  you  to  be  comfortable  ?" 

"  My  darling,  you  never  thought  about  it,  and  I  was  too 
selfish  to  think  for  you." 
30* 


426  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

"  There  now,  you  see,  it  is  just  as  I  said." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"I  mean  that  you  are  quite  wrong  in  thinking  that  1 
have  been  deceived.  I  did  not  marry  you.  dear,  to  be 
comfortable  —  and  I  did  think  it  all  over ;  ay,  over  and 
over  again.  So  you  are  not  to  run  away  with  the  belief 
that  you  have  taken  me  in." 

"  I  shall  be  glad  enough  to  give  it  up,  dearest,  if  you 
can  convince  me." 

"  Then  you  will  listen  while  I  explain  ?" 

"Yes,  with  all  my  ears  and  all  my  heart." 

"  You  remember  the  year  that  we  met,  when  we  danced 
and  went  nutting  together,  a  thoughtless  boy  and  girl  —  " 

"  Remember  it !     Have  I  ever  —  " 

"  You  are  not  to  interrupt.  Of  course  you  remember 
it  all,  and  are  ready  to  tell  me  that  you  loved  me  the  first 
moment  you  saw  me  at  the  window  in  High  Street.  Well, 
perhaps  I  shall  not  object  to  be  told  it  at  a  proper  time, 
but  now  I  am  making  my  confessions.  I  liked  you  then, 
because  you  were  Katie's  cousin,  and  almost  my  first 
partner,  and  were  never  tired  of  dancing,  and  were 
generally  merry  and  pleasant,  though  you  sometimes  took 
to  lecturing,  even  in  those  days." 

"  But  Mary  —  " 

"  You  are  to  be  silent  now,  and  listen.  I  liked  you 
then.  But  you  are  not  to  look  conceited  and  flatter  your- 
self. It  was  only  a  girl's  fancy.  I  couldn't  have  married 
you  then  —  given  myself  up  to  you.  No,  I  don't  think  I 
could,  oven  on  the  night  when  you  fished  for  me  out  of 
the  window  with  the  heather  and  heliotrope,  though  I 
kept  them  and  have  them  still.  And  then  came  that 
scene  down  below,  at  old  Simon's  cottage,  and  I  thought  I 
should  never  wish  to  see  you  again.  And  then  I  came 
out  in  London,  and  went  abroad.      I  scarcely  heard  of 


TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD.  427 

you  again  for  a  year,  for  Katie  hardly  ever  mentioned  you 
in  her  letters  ;  and  though  I  sometimes  wished  that  she 
would,  and  thought  that  I  should  just  like  to  know  what 
you  were  doing,  I  was  too  proud  to  ask.  Meantime,  I 
went  out  and  enjoyed  myself,  and  had  a  great  many  pretty 
things  said  to  me  —  much  prettier  things  than  you  ever 
said  —  and  made  the  acquaintance  of  pleasant  young 
men,  friends  of  papa  and  mamma  ;  many  of  them  with 
good  establishments  too.  But  I  shall  not  tell  you  any 
thing  more  ahout  them,  or  you  will  be  going  off  about  the 
luxuries  I  have  been  used  to.  Then  I  began  to  hear  of 
you  again.  Katie  came  to  stay  with  us,  and  I  met  some 
of  your  Oxford  friends.  Poor  dear  Katie  !  she  was  full 
of  you  and  your  wild  sayings  and  doings,  half  frightened 
and  half  pleased,  but  all  the  time  the  best  and  truest 
friend  you  ever  had.  Some  of  the  rest  were  not  friends 
at  all ;  and  I  have  heard  many  a  sneer  and  unkind  word, 
and  stories  of  your  monstrous  speeches  and  habits.  Some 
said  you  were  mad  ;  others  that  you  liked  to  be  eccentric ; 
that  you  couldn't  bear  to  live  with  your  equals  ;  that  you 
sought  the  society  of  your  inferiors  to  be  flattered.  I 
listened,  and  thought  it  all  over,  and  being  wilful  and 
eccentric  myself,  you  know,  liked  more  and  more  to  hear 
about  you,  and  hoped  I  should  see  you  again  some  day. 
I  was  curious  to  judge  for  myself,  whether  you  were  much 
changed  for  the  better  or  the  worse.  And  at  last  came 
the  day  when  I  saw  you  again,  carrying  the  poor  lame 
child;  and  after  that,  you  know  what  happened.  So  here 
we  are,  dear,  and  you  are  my  husband.  And  you  will 
please  never  to  look  serious  again,  from  any  foolish 
thought  that  I  have  been  taken  in  ;  that  I  did  not  know 
what  I  was  about  when  I  took  you  '  for  better  for  worse, 
for  richer  for  poorer,  in  sickness  and  in  health,  till  death 
u    do  part.'      Now,  what  have  you  to  say  for  yourself?" 


428  TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD. 

"  Nothing ;  but  a  great  deal  for  you.  I  see  more  and 
more,  my  darling,  what  a  brave,  generous,  pitying  angel 
I  have  tied  to  myself.  But  seeing  that  makes  me  despise 
myself  more." 

"  What !  you  are  going  to  dare  to  disobey  me  already  ?  " 

"  I  can't  help  it,  dearest.  All  you  say  shows  me  more 
and  more  that  you  have  made  all  the  sacrifice,  and  I  am 
to  get  all  the  benefit.  A  man  like  me  has  no  right  to 
bring  such  a  woman  as  you  under  his  burden." 

"  But  you  couldn't  help  yourself.  It  was  because  you 
were  out  of  sorts  with  the  world,  smarting  with  the  wrongs 
you  saw  on  every  side,  struggling  after  something  better 
and  higher,  and  siding  and  sympathizing  with  the  poor 
and  weak,  that  I  loved  you.  We  should  never  have  been 
here,  dear,  if  you  had  been  a  young  gentleman  satisfied 
with  himself  and  the  world,  and  likely  to  get  on  well  in 
society." 

"  Ah,  Mary,  it  is  all  very  well  for  a  man.  It  is  a  man's 
business.  But  why  is  a  woman's  life  to  be  made  wretched  ? 
Why  should  you  be  dragged  into  all  my  perplexities,  and 
douhts,  and  dreams,  and  struggles  ?  " 

"  And  why  should  I  not  ?  " 

"  Life  should  be  all  bright  and  beautiful  to  a  woman. 
It  is  every  man's  duty  to  shield  her  from  all  that  can  vex, 
or  pain,  or  soil." 

"  But  have  women  different  souls  from  men  ?" 

"  God  forbid  !  " 

"  Then  are  we  not  fit  to  share  your  highest  hopes  ?  " 

"  To  share  our  highest  hopes !  Yes,  when  we  have 
any.  But  the  mire  and  clay  where  one  sticks  fast  over 
and  over  again,  with  no  high  hopes  or  high  any  thing  else 
in  sight  —  a  man  must  be  a  selfish  brute  to  bring  one  he 
pretends  to  love  into  all  that." 

"  Now,  Tom,"  she  said,  almost  solemnly,  "  you  are  not 


TOM   BROWN   AT    OXFORD.  429 

true  to  yourself.  "Would  you  part  with  your  own  deepest 
convictions  ?  Would  you,  if  you  could,  go  back  to  the 
time  when  you  cared  for  and  thought  about  none  of  these 
things?"     ' 

He  thought  a  minute,  and  then,  pressing  her  hand, 
said,  — 

"  No,  dearest,  I  would  not.  The  consciousness  of  the 
darkness  in  one  and  around  one  brings  the  longing  for 
liorlit.  And  then  the  light  dawns  ;  through  mist  and  fog, 
perhaps,  but  enough  to  pick  one's  way  by."  lie  stopped 
a  moment,  and  then  added,  "  and  shines  ever  brighter  unto 
the  perfect  day.     Yes,  I  begin  to  know  it." 

"  Then  why  not  put  me  on  your  own  level  ?  Why  not 
let  me  pick  my  way  by  your  side?  Cannot  a  woman  feel 
the  wrongs  that  are  going  on  in  the  world  ?  Cannot  she 
long  to  see  them  set  right,  and  pray  that  they  may  be  set 
right  ?  We  are  not  meant  to  sit  in  fine  silks,  and  look 
pretty,  and  spend  money,  any  more  than  you  are  meant 
to  make  it,  and  cry  peace  where  there  is  no  peace.  If 
a  woman  cannot  do  much  herself,  she  can  honor  and  love 
a  man  who  can." 

He  turned  to  her,  and  bent  over  her,  and  kissed  her 
forehead,  and  kissed  her  lips.  She  looked  up  with  spark- 
ling eyes,  and  said,  — 

"  Am  I  not  right,  dear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  and  I  have  been  fake  to  my  creed. 
You  have  taken  a  load  off  my  heart,  dearest.  Henceforth 
there  shall  be  but  one  mind  and  one  soul  between  us. 
You  have  made  me  feel  what  it  is  that  a  man  wants,  what 
is  the  help  that  is  mete  for  him." 

He  looked  into  her  eyes  and  kissed  her  again  ;  and 
then  rose  up,  for  there  was  something  within  him  like  a 
moving  of  new  life,  which  lifted  him,  and  set  him  on  his 
feet.     And  he  stood  with  kindling  brow,  gazing  into  the 


430  TOM   BROWN   AT   OXFORD. 

autumn  air,  as  his  heart  went  sorrowing,  but  hopefully 
"  sorrowing,  back  through  all  the  faultful  past."  And  she 
sat  on  at  first,  and  watched  his  face,  and  neither  spoke  nor 
moved  for  some  minutes.  Then  she  rose,  too,  and  stood 
by  his  side  :  — 

And  on  her  lover's  arm  she  leant, 

And  round  her  waist  she  felt  it  fold,  — 

And  so  across  the  hills  they  went, 
'  In  that  new  world  which  is  the  old. 

Yes,  that  new  world,  through  the  golden  gates  of  which 
they  had  passed  together,  which  is  the  old,  old  world  after 
all,  and  nothing  else.  The  same  old  and  new  world  it 
was  to  our  fathers  and  mothers  as  it  is  to  us,  and  shall  be 
to  our  children,  —  a  world  clear  and  bright,  and  ever  be- 
coming clearer  and  brighter  to  the  humble,  and  true,  and 
pure  of  heart,  to  every  man  and  woman  who  will  live  in 
it  as  the  children  of  the  Maker  and  Lord  of  it,  their 
Father.  To  them,  and  to  them  alone,  is  that  world,  old 
and  new,  given,  and  all  that  is  in  it,  fully  and  freely  to 
enjoy.  All  others  but  these  are  occupying  where  they 
have  no  title ;  "  they  are  sowing  much,  but  bringing  in 
little  ;  they  eat,  but  have  not  enough  ;  they  drink,  but  are 
not  filled  with  drink ;  the}'  clothe  themselves,  but  there  is 
none  warm ;  and  he  of  them  who  earneth  wages,  earneth 
wages  to  put  them  into  a  bag  with  holes."  But  these  have 
the  world  and  all  things  for  a  rightful  and  rich  inherit- 
ance, for  they  hold  them  as  dear  children  of  Him  in  whose 
hand  it  and  they  are  lying,  and  no  power  in  earth  or  hell 
Bhall  pluck  them  out  of  their  Father's  hand. 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  11 


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12       A  Li§t  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by   TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  lg 


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14       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed 


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by    TlCKNOR    AND    FlELDS.  15 


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16       A  Lift  of  Books  Publifhed. 


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